


Do You Want Me Now

by GothamCityRollerGirl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: All Non-Con happened previously, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eskel raises GOATS, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fem!Jaskier, Female Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt and Eskel own a horse rescue, Geralt and Jaskier are both in therapy, Geralt and Jaskier have PTSD, Geralt is a painter, Geralt of Rivia prior military service, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is a Mess, It's a hobby, Jaskier is Lambert's TA, Jaskier is a Grad Student, Jaskier is a Musician, Jaskier is very tactile, Jaskier | Dandelion's family is pretty terrible, Lambert is a Chemistry Professor, M/M, No Non-Con between Geralt/Jaskier, No Non-Con between anyone else in the 'here and now', Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, There is just a LOT of miscommunication, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Vaginal Fisting, Yennefer is not a villian here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29405970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothamCityRollerGirl/pseuds/GothamCityRollerGirl
Summary: **Wanted: Nude Model for painting (canvas, not you) - Men/women/other, serious inquiries only**For Larkin (or Jaskier, as she’s more commonly known), taking a side hustle as a nude model was an easy way for the struggling grad student to earn some easy money.For Geralt, a horse trainer, painting was a hobby; a way to help manage his anxiety and depression. Placing the ad itself was just the first step to changing his life forever.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion & Renfri | Shrike, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 75
Kudos: 83





	1. Do You Want Me Now-Opening Moodboard

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the song 'Bad Reputation' by Freedy Johnston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moodboard to set the overall tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Moodboards don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [ActionNerdGamerLove](https://actionnerdgamerlove.tumblr.com/) Come yell at me, if you're so inclined!
> 
> As always, especially now, Stay Safe and Be Kind!


	2. Strangers in a Coffee Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two strangers meet in a coffee shop. Will they stay strangers forever? Probably not, because this story is about the two of them and it would be awfully boring if they didn't get to know each other better.
> 
> But HOW MUCH BETTER, you ask.
> 
> Good question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I really like moodboards. I'm gonna try to post one with every chapter. They help me visualize the story in my imagination, so I share them with you, dear reader. Hopefully they'll help you, too.
> 
> If Moodboards don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)

“You’re my artist, aren’t you?” The beautiful young woman in front of him said, her easy possessiveness making Geralt narrow his eyes, wary.

 _It’s a trap,_ one part of Geralt’s mind thought. _Yes,_ _Gods, yes,_ another part of his mind shouted, louder. Out loud, he said “Hmm,”

On first look, she was every artist’s dream. Smooth, creamy skin; long honey brown hair in subtle curls down her back; huge blue eyes, and a perfect cupid’s bow mouth.

She was every artist’s dream on second, third and fourth look, too.

From where Geralt was sitting in the coffee shop, he could tell she was pretty tall for a woman. She had curves where curves should go, all the required amount of appendages, and a smile bright enough it could rival the sun. She had on a Fraggle Rock t-shirt, a pair of well-loved jeans, and green converse hi-tops.

“Love how you just sit in the corner and brood,” she said with a smirk. He watched her absentmindedly pick at her fingers, in what seemed to be a nervous habit. “So, _are_ you my artist…or…” she trailed off, bouncing on her toes.

“I’m Geralt,” he grunted.

“So you _are_ my artist! I’m Larkin.” Her declaration came with an outstretched hand, that went unshaken. She looked puzzled, but only for a moment. “Oh, er, right. Were you raised in a cave?”

“I don’t like touching people.”

She considered him, tilting her head to the side. “Fair.”

Geralt gestured to the seat across from him at the table. “Sit.”

So she did. As soon as she was seated Geralt noticed one of her legs start bouncing.

“Do you ever stop moving?” He asked, scowling.

“Not usually, no.”

“And you’ll be able to stand still for hours at a time, posing?” Skeptical. He was _highly_ skeptical.

“I have meds that can help.” She shrugged, like it was no big deal that she took medication to help her stay still.

“Do you have ADHD or something?”

“No.”

Well. That…was not how he was expecting that conversation to go, at all. They sat in silence for a few moments; Geralt was waiting for her to speak, to say _something_ , but she surprised him with her silence.

“Have you ever done this before?”

“Sat across from a total stranger in a coffee shop? Or posed for an artist?”

“The latter,” Geralt said, dryly.

“No.”

Geralt made a noise that was most definitely _not_ a snort. Definitely not. “Bit ambitious for your first try,”

Larkin smiled ruefully. “I have extensive experience with being seen, and not heard.”

Geralt was sure there was a story there, but Larkin did not elaborate.

“Have _you_?” Larkin’s blue eyes were watching him closely. She’d pulled her legs up under her in her chair, one knee down, one knee pulled up to her chest. She was picking at her fingers again.

“Have I..?” Geralt wasn’t sure what she was asking.

“Done a nude study before.”

“Once, in a class.”

“What was that like?” He watched Larkin lean forward across her knee, across the table, lean closer to _him,_ and suddenly it was like her focus was solely on Geralt – like Geralt was the most interesting thing she’d _ever seen_ , and she wanted to know _all_ about it.

Her sudden intensity stole Geralt’s breath from his lungs. Geralt blinked. 

“Odd.”

“Tell me why,” she said in a way that made it sound not so much a command, but made Geralt want to use full sentences, instead of monosyllabic grunts.

“It was too,” Geralt searched for the right word before continuing, “impersonal.”

“So what are you hoping to get from your sessions?” Larkin asked, lightly, and Geralt could have sworn his therapist had said the same thing to him just a few weeks ago, at one of their last appointments.

“More…” Geralt stumbles again – words are not his strong suit. _Intimacy_? No, that sounds creepy, even though it’s sort of true. _Connection_? That’s exactly it, and what his therapist had said it sounded like he was missing. Instead of saying the true thing, he says “Time.”

“Time.” Larkin repeats him, eyebrows up, making sure she heard him correctly.

“No forced time limit, no due date,” he explains.

“Ah.”

He was feeling much less skeptical, now.

“And you understand you would be naked, in these sessions,” Geralt presses, wanting to make sure she _knows_ what he’s asking. So she won’t be surprised. So she won’t be surprised and _leave_.

Larkin smiles, looking up like she’s trying to recall something and repeats the ad back to him. “’Wanted, nude model for painting (canvas, not you).’ Not much room for misinterpretation, there. No sticker shock here, boss.”

“And you’re alright being naked in front of a man you don’t know…?”

“More than being naked in front of some men I _do_ know.” She sounds resigned, when she says it. Like so many other women.

 _Oh_. Oh, there _is_ a story there. He doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing.

“What kind of schedule are you looking to keep?” Larkin asks, getting them back on track.

“Sundays. Mornings. Sunday mornings. Will that work?”

“How _early_ on Sunday mornings?” Larkin asks, wincing.

“9 am?”

He hears her sigh. “Any way I can get you to push it to 10 am?” She’s shut her eyes, her lips pressed together.

“Not a morning person?”

“Not a ‘Sunday morning’ person.” He catches her watching him, and she sighs again. “Fine, 9 am. I assume you’d like a chance to give me a once-over, prior to finalizing any arrangement?”

Geralt hadn’t actually thought about it, but she made a good point.

“That – that sounds good.”

Larkin looked at him like she was expecting something. She waited. And waited. Finally, she gave up.

“Is there a night this week that would work for you? For me to come over?”

Oh. _Oh_. He’s not so great at conversation, he thinks, not for the first time.

“Wednesday or Thursday night would be good.”

Larkin takes out her phone, scans her fingerprint, and opens the calendar app. She taps a finger to her lips.

“Wednesday, after 7?”

“Fine.”

He sees her open a different app, tap something in, then hand her phone to him.

“Gimme your number so you can text me your address.”

Geralt looks and she’s already filled in the name for him. ‘White Wolf’. He looks up at her, eyebrow raised.

“Your hair. And your necklace.”

Geralt smiled, shyly. He was pleased, that was a clever nickname. He felt his back pocket buzz, and pulled it out.

 **Unknown Number [4:12 PM]:** It’s Larkin. I’m sitting directly across from you. You should save my contact name as ‘Fraggle Rock’.

Geralt looks at her, smirking slightly, and sees the underside of her right wrist.

“What’s that?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. She holds her wrist out over the table, to let him see more clearly. It’s a tattoo, of a bird, in silhouette.

“It’s a lark.”

He changes her contact name to ‘Little Lark’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are ALWAYS appreciated!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [ActionNerdGamerLove](https://actionnerdgamerlove.tumblr.com/) Come yell at me if you're so inclined!
> 
> As always, especially now, Stay Safe and Be Kind!


	3. Wednesday at 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt gets his 'once over'.
> 
> It's possible he may be in over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Moodboards don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)

Larkin wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she pulled up to the townhouse Geralt’s address had led to, but it sure wasn’t a cookie-cutter suburban townhouse, complete with red shutters and a dwarf maple tree in the small front yard. Maybe a cave? Maybe a treehouse? Definitely not suburbia.

(Larkin would normally have introduced herself as Jaskier, the name she used when she performed, however the White Wolf had made it very clear (very, very clear) that this was a business arrangement _only,_ therefore her legal name was good enough.)

 _Kind of a shame_ , Larkin thought, because the man was fucking _hot_. Tall? Definitely over six feet. _Check._ Broad shouldered? Looked like he could get into a fight with a brick wall and fucking win. _Check._ Shoulder to hip ratio reminiscent of a Dorito? _Check_. Face that could definitely provide inspiration for several songs? And perhaps also a few masturbation fantasies? _Check._ A voice with the power to make panties spontaneously combust? _Check._

 _Kind of a shame_ , she thought once more.

She pulled out her phone, and opened her text messages.

 **Little Lark [7:01 PM]:** Made it safe [eyeroll emoji] **,** he does not, in fact, live in a haunted forest.

 **Lambert [7:01 PM]:** Looks can be deceiving. Text me when you leave, alright? DO NOT FORGET. If I have to drag my ass to find you in a haunted forest, Ima be pissed, Jask.

 **Little Lark [7:02 PM]:** Yes mom. Tell Aiden I say hey. Updated lesson plans are on your desk. I gotta go, I have a feeling Mr. Artist does not take tardiness well.

 **Lambert [7:02 PM]:** See you tomorrow, kid. Be careful.

Larkin stowed her phone in her bag, rolling her eyes. This was her second year being Lambert’s TA, and he’d become as close to her as family. Better than family, honestly – well, better than hers, anyway. Family that distilled bootleg vodka in his basement lab. The _best_ kind of family.

She climbed out of her ancient Honda Accord, pulling her small messenger bag over her head, and walked up to the amazingly unassuming red front door. She’d barely managed a knock when the door opened and she was greeted by Geralt.

 _Greeted_ …may have been an overstatement. He stood in the doorway, door open to the inside of the house behind him, feet bare, hair wet, shirtless, wearing sweatpants and a towel around his neck. Larkin tried not to show just how much she appreciated a shirtless Geralt. Because she appreciated it _a lot_.

He gave her a very obvious once over, looking down at her on the front step, and frowned.

“You’re…dressed differently than I expected.”

“It’s not like I was going to show _up_ naked, Geralt,” Larkin scrunched her face up, in a ‘are you serious?’ kind of way. “I came straight from work.”

Geralt continued to stare at Larkin from the doorway. Larkin started bouncing on her toes.

“Am I coming inside? Because I will not run the risk of getting arrested for public indecency in your front yard.”

Larkin watched Geralt raise an eyebrow. “Are there other places more suitable for possibly getting arrested?”

Larkin smiled knowingly. “Indeed there are,” she said, but offered no further comment.

Geralt turned sideways, and gestured inside for Larkin to head in. She walked into his living room, furnished minimally, which came as no surprise to her. Geralt didn’t strike Larkin as a ‘clutter’ kind of guy. From the front door, there was a stairway going up to her right, and a brown leather couch parallel to the left wall. She saw a good-sized TV mounted to the wall, and an espresso-stained wooden entertainment center underneath. A matching chair at a 90-degree angle to the couch was the only other furniture in the room.

Larkin looked down and saw a tray on the floor with boots in it, and looked over at Geralt who had just shut the front door.

“Shoes off?” she asked, not wanting to piss off the Greek god next to her.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

She toed off her green suede flats, and found herself barefoot on the hardwood floor.

“Before we get started, I’d like to discuss a few things,” Larkin said, her tone firm, but not loud or aggressive.

Instead of replying, Geralt just raised his eyebrows. Larkin opened the flap of her messenger bag, and pulled out a laptop. Geralt’s eyebrows raised further.

“Shall we sit, or would you prefer to stand?”

“Is there _paperwork_ involved?” Geralt asked, incredulous.

“Yes.” Larkin opened the laptop, then folded it backwards into a tablet, pulling up a document for Geralt to read. He walked over to the couch, and flopped down. Larkin took the chair opposite him.

Larkin had a friend of hers draft up a pretty standard contract for a service of this nature, with a few added details.

“I have to ask permission before I touch you.” Geralt said, sounding unsure.

“Will that be a problem.”

“No, ah. No.” Geralt continued reading. “There’s a photography/videography clause.”

“There is indeed.”

Larkin watched Geralt’s eyes widen as he read through that particular clause.

“This is an extraordinarily in-depth section. With fines up to -! You can’t be serious.”

“My privacy is extremely important to me. For all I know, you have cameras in every room.”

The way she said it made the hair on the back of Geralt’s neck stand up. This was the type of addition only someone whose privacy had been violated would have.

“Am I to assume I have to sign this before we can proceed?”

“You assume correctly.” She paused. “You don’t like it, I leave, and the worst that happens is we wasted two hours total. If you want, I can email it to you, and we can adjourn until you’ve had a chance to review it completely.”

“Give me about ten minutes. Feel free to look around this floor, if you want.”

So Larkin did. She wandered around the living room, hands clasped behind her, looking at the (few) pieces of art on the walls. A few of the canvases looked like they had been done by Geralt, and Larkin was impressed with his skill. Two were abstract, riots of color which seemed very at home in this austere living room. There was one on the wall behind the couch of two horses in snow.

Then Larkin came to the medals, and she stopped cold.

He’d been Staff Sergeant in the Marines. He’d been honorably discharged.

None of this was actually spelled out on any of the medals, but Larkin already knew what they meant. Her father had been an officer in the Navy, and was killed in action.

Pieces started falling into place. Her White Wolf started to make more sense.

Geralt cleared his throat behind her. She must’ve been staring at the medals longer than she thought.

“Thank you for your service,” Larkin said, meaning every word. _I’m glad you were able to come home_ , she thought.

“They’re just medals. They’re nothing special.”

Lies. He was telling lies. But instead of hissing, she hummed, in reply. He didn’t know she wore her father’s dog tags every day.

“So, have we come to a decision?” She asked, turning around.

“I’ll sign it.”

*****

After signing, he brought her downstairs, to his studio in the basement. It was a walk-out basement, the back of which was all paned glass and French doors leading out to the backyard. It was dark out now, but when the sun was up the room would surely be filled with an abundance of natural light, perfect for this type of study.

His easel was toward the left side of the room, at a 45-degree angle to the wall. There was good overhead lighting.

“Shall I?” Larkin asked, as she pulled the sheer green ruffle sleeved blouse over her head, dropping it on his stool.

Geralt stood toward the back of the room; arms folded over his chest. He’d lost the towel somewhere upstairs, and his hair was drier. She watched him watch her as she continued to undress; next the blue tank top, leaving her only in her blue lace balconette and jeans. She popped the button on her jeans, pulling the zipper down, letting them fall to her feet.

She was trying very hard to make this the opposite of a strip tease, but there is only so much one can do when one is wearing lacy lingerie. Her blue lace boyshorts matched the bra. They were also deposited on the chair, on top of her shirts.

She resisted the urge to swing her arms wide and say ‘ta-da!’ loudly, but it was a near thing. She didn’t think Geralt would find it as funny as she did. She did clasp her hands behind her which (of course) brought her womanly assets into sharper relief. 

She saw Geralt’s Adams apple bob; he looked like he was trying very hard to school his face into a neutral expression. She heard him clear his throat.

“Can you turn around?” he asked, and Larkin was _positive_ she heard his voice crack.

She did as she was asked, and spun slowly, pulling her long hair over her shoulder when she stopped, so he could have a better view of her back. She turned back around, watching as he wiped his hand across his mouth. She thought he looked supremely uncomfortable. _Or, that could just be his face_ , she said to herself.

“Good?” she asked, voice calm.

He cleared his throat again, and said “Fine.” Then he turned on his heel and marched back upstairs. “Meet me upstairs when you’re finished,” he called down to her.

Huh. _That was odd_ , she thought.

*****

**Later:**

**Little Lark [8:31 PM]:** I survived, I’m on my way home.

 **Lambert [8:33 PM]:** Everything go ok?

 **Little Lark [8:34 PM]:** Yep! Just fine.

 **Lambert [8:36 PM]:** Drive safe.

 **Little Lark [8:37 PM]:** [Kissy face emoji]

*****

**Even Later:**

**Lambert [10:07 PM]:** HOW DID IT GO?

 **White Wolf [10:08 PM]:** Good.

 **Lambert [10:08 PM]:** GOOD? All I get is ‘GOOD’? YOU HAD A NAKED WOMAN IN YOUR BASEMENT OF HER OWN FREE WILL.

 **White Wolf [10:09 PM]:** She looks good naked. Like, really good.

 **Lambert [10:10 PM]:** Oh yeah?

 **White Wolf [10:11 PM]:** Like I may be re-evaluating the choices that led me here ‘really good naked’.

 **Lambert [10:13 PM]:** The hell does that mean?

 **White Wolf [10:14 PM]:** I may have had a…reaction.

 **Lambert [10:14 PM]:** NO FUCKING WAY. TELL ME YOU DID NOT GET HARD.

 **White Wolf [10:15 PM]:** [side-eye emoji]

 **Lambert [10:16 PM]:** LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL FOOL. I KNEW you were done as soon as you told me she had eyes ‘like a cloudless summer sky’

 **Lambert [10:16 PM]:** Did she notice????

 **White Wolf [10:17 PM]:** I don’t think so.

 **Lambert [10:18 PM]:** FOOL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although Lambert theoretically knows Larkin is Geralt's model, he just fails to put 2 and 2 together.
> 
> It's Lambert. C'mon.


	4. Hey Good Lookin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get to know our favorite bard a little better.
> 
> PLUS RENFRI. 💖⚔🔪🔪🔪

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Moodboards don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)
> 
> I picture Aiden as Jay Baruchel, and Valdo Marx as Charlie Day. It is what it is, people.

The next day found Larkin sitting backwards on a barstool next to her best friend, Renfri, at their favorite bar, The Stone Balloon. Aiden, Lambert’s boyfriend, was bartending, along with their friend Triss. 

It was open mic night, and Renfri had bullied Larkin into bringing her guitar, although Larkin didn’t really want to play. She and Ren were minding their own business, chatting with Triss and Aiden, doing best friend-type things like stealing fries off one another’s plates, or flipping hair over faces (that was mostly Renfri, because Renfri’s hair was too short to play ‘Cousin It’ with).

“Meeting your artist dude was last night, yeah?” Renfri asked, taking a sip of Larkin’s coke.

“Yeah.”

“Well? HOW DID IT GO?”

“Well, I’m sitting next to you now, so he didn’t kill me in his basement,”

“What was it LIKE, Jask? You had to get naked, right? In some stranger’s house?”

“Yep. I mean, I got naked in some dude’s basement. Not like _that’s_ the first time that’s happened,” Larkin said, laughing.

“Yeah, but, you didn’t fuck him, right?”

“No, we did not fuck. Unfortunate, too, the man is fucking hot as _shit_ , Ren.”

Renfri just raised her eyebrows, in question.

“Like, any man you’ve thought was remotely good looking in a way that isn’t humanly possible, this dude is 1000% hotter. But he’s _super_ all about business, so it’s just as well, I guess.”

“All about business…how?”

“I’m there to perform a job, and that’s it. I am literally a warm body, and that’s all. At least he’s nice to look at, I guess.” Larkin shrugged.

“You’re going to get a crush on him, I guarantee it.”

“I don’t do crushes, you know that.”

“Mark my words, Jas. You’re gonna catch feelings about this dude. I have a feeling.”

Larkin rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh, okay. Sure. When was my last crush, again?”

Renfri tapped her chin, thinking. “That one guy from two apartment rows down from me-“

“Nope.”

“That one chick in your class las-“

“Nope.”

“That other TA Lambert introduced you to-“

“Close, but no.”

“Well, mark my words. I have a feeling.”

Larkin smiled indulgently at her best friend, shaking her head.

Larkin and Renfri had been best friends since Larkin was an undergrad at Julliard, and Renfri had smashed some dude headfirst into a curb for getting physically aggressive with Larkin at a frat party. Renfri didn’t go to Julliard, or any of the other 9,000 colleges and universities in New York, but both of them were pretty certain they were meant to be best friends after that night. After Larkin had graduated from Julliard with a degree in Musical Theory (or as Renfri like to call it “A degree in every fucking instrument known to man”) and picked Oxenfurt for her PhD, Renfri came with her. Renfri was an LCSW, and was a sexual assault victim advocate and counselor.

Larkin had her elbows resting on the bar behind her, and her legs splayed out in front of her barstool when she was approached by a dude she’d never seen at the bar before. He was tall (maybe not Geralt-Greek-God tall, but tall) with artfully tousled dark brown hair, a full beard, and a nice smile. He was cute. Definitely not Geralt-level ‘I want to lick you all over, twice’ gorgeous, but then again…few people were.

“Fellow musician, I see! You gonna perform tonight?”

Larkin stayed silent, responding with a smile, instead, however Renfri had no such reservations.

“She sure is!” she called, leaning back to look at the newcomer.

“You any good?” the stranger asked Larkin, directly.

“I get by,” Larkin responded, making Renfri snort. Larkin (as Jaskier) had two albums released already, and was working on her third. But because she was still in school, she kept that aspect of her life on the down-low, so she wasn’t constantly harassed on campus.

“How about a friendly wager?”

Larkin raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him in a silent question.

“Whoever gets the most crowd participation wins.”

“What’re you betting?”

“Drinks, the rest of the night. You?”

“I’ll fuck you in the bathroom if I lose.” Larkin managed to say it with a completely straight face, while Renfri was _losing her shit_ next to her.

“Oh, you are ON.” The stranger said. “I’m Valdo.”

“Larkin,” she said, sticking out her hand.

Renfri was crying laughing now. “Dude. You are _so_ fucked.” She told Valdo, between sobs.

Valdo took the empty barstool to the left of Larkin, and Larkin turned around so she could talk to both her best friend and this cocky new dude. Valdo certainly liked to talk about himself, and Larkin was happy to let him – learning many new tidbits about him, like he couldn’t tie his shoes until he was seven, he was allergic to corn and most Hallmark commercials made him cry.

Larkin told Valdo she was a graduate student at Oxenfurt, and she and Renfri were friends.

Through all this, Renfri was still crying laughing the whole time; pounding the bar in front of them. Both Aiden and Triss had brought her tissues a couple of times, and were also chuckling over the scene unfolding before them.

Open Mic Night officially started, and there were a couple spoken word artists up first, followed by a poet. Then Valdo. He did a cover of Blackbird by the Beatles, and he wasn’t half bad. There was _some_ audience participation, but he was new to this bar.

Larkin was not. Larkin also knew the audience, and the audience knew her. As soon as Triss announced her name, the entire bar full of people started cheering, and as soon as Larkin said which song she was playing, everyone cheered even louder. She locked eyes with Valdo before she started and shrugged in apology.

Larkin did a cover of ‘Hey Good Lookin’ by Hank Williams, which happened to be one of her most favorite songs of all time. Larkin had many fond memories of her dad singing it to her as a lullaby when she was little.

**_Hey Good Lookin’_ by Hank Williams**

_Say hey, good lookin', what you got cookin'?  
How's about cookin' somethin' up with me?  
Hey, sweet baby, don't you think maybe  
We could find us a brand-new recipe?_

_I got a hot rod Ford, and a two-dollar bill  
And I know a spot right over the hill  
There's soda pop and the dancing's free  
So, if you wanna have fun come along with me_

_Say hey, good lookin', what you got cookin'?  
How's about cookin' somethin' up with me?_

_I'm free and ready, so we can go steady  
How's about savin' all your time for me?  
No more lookin', I know I've been tooken  
How's about keepin' steady company?_

_I'm gonna throw my date book over the fence  
And find me one for five or ten cents  
I'll keep it till it's covered with age  
'Cause I'm writin' your name down on every page_

_Say hey, good lookin', whatcha got cookin'?  
How's about cookin' somethin' up with me?_

It wasn’t the first time she’d sung it in this bar, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last. Everyone sung along, Renfri and Aiden _by far_ the loudest among them.

When Larkin walked back to her barstool, Valdo turned to her.

“So, you’re good. Like _really_ good.”

“Thanks.”

“Did I just get hustled?” he asked, head tilted, trying to look less put out than he was. Renfri cackled from Larkin’s other side.

“To have gotten hustled, I would have had to have approached YOU about the bet, and that would also assume you were here first, which…you were not.”

Renfri snorted. “Face it, guy, she’s just better than you are.”

Larkin turned to Valdo, who looked like he was considering something. “Would you still be up for bathroom-stall fucking?” he asked, with a cocky grin.

Larkin laughed, loud and long. “As much as that appeals, I try to limit my exposure to those conditions to once a month, and I’ve already hit my limit this month.” She stood up from her seat and leaned over the bar to grab a sharpie she knew Aiden kept there.

Getting back down to her seat, she took Valdo’s hand, and wrote her number on his hand in sharpie. “Text me. Maybe we can get together later this week.”

Valdo grinned.


	5. First Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier have their first session!
> 
> It goes about as smoothly as one could expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Moodboards don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)

**Saturday afternoon, prior to the First Session:**

**Little Lark [3:15 PM]:** Yo, we still on for tomorrow, captain?

**White Wolf [3:30 PM]:** I was a Staff Sergeant, not a Captain. And yes.

**Little Lark [3:45 PM]:** [Eyeroll emoji] It was a joke, like referring to you as ‘boss’ or ‘chief’. Like you’re the captain of this ship. I know what the stripes mean, Staff Sergeant. See you tomorrow at the ungodly hour of 9 am.

**White Wolf [3:46 PM]:** 9 am is not an ‘ungodly hour’.

**Little Lark [3:47 PM]:** My weekend sleep schedule vehemently disagrees with you. See you tomorrow.

*********

**Sunday morning:**

When Sunday morning rolled around, Geralt had already spent approximately 9,122 hours researching model poses in anticipation of their first session. He had expected to see naked bodies in his Google search, but hadn’t quite been prepared to see the sheer amount of pornography his first search returned.

Geralt really needed to work on his Search Engine Optimization.

It’s not that Geralt was a prude, that wasn’t it at all. He was _quite_ familiar with porn, having reacquainted himself with it following his separation and divorce from Yennefer a few years prior. His brothers had attempted to set him up with several people in the years following the divorce, but Geralt just wasn’t interested in dating again.

If Geralt’s sexuality were to be classified as anything, he would most likely be considered demisexual, but Geralt didn’t know that. All Geralt knew is it took a lot for him to connect with another person, and intimacy wasn’t a foregone conclusion. He didn’t mind.

Much. 

Since he’d been discharged from the Marines and had come back from active duty, his view of relationships had changed. That was part of the reason he and Yennefer hadn’t worked out. She’d told him he was a completely different person when he’d come back; that he wasn’t the same man she’d married. He knew in some respects she was right; he _wasn’t_ the same man. But he didn’t really think it was fair of her to expect that he _be_ the same man – war changes people. It had certainly changed him. He didn’t have PTSD before he left. He didn’t have flashbacks of violent bombings, and friends of his being killed. He hadn’t had quite the temper he had now; it was like his veneer of ‘nice’ had been peeled away when he came home. What was left was a mix of ‘fuck you’ and ‘fuck me’.

His therapist told him this wasn’t unusual, and his reactions and feelings since he’d come home were perfectly normal for someone who’d gone through what he had. 

But Geralt didn’t _feel_ normal anymore.

And that’s what led him to try this experiment with painting another human being. It was a gamble; he could have ended up with someone completely incompatible. And he still wasn’t sure he _hadn’t_ – jury was still out on that.

Larkin seemed very…energetic. Geralt wasn’t sure how he felt about that. She kind of reminded him of Lambert, except she didn’t seem to default to ‘asshole’ as her factory preset. He was curious about the few things he’d picked up on that she _hadn’t_ said – stuff about the medication she took, the non-touching clause, the ridiculously detailed section of the contract regarding photography and videography, and her preoccupation with his service medals. _That_ particular tidbit fascinated him – she didn’t strike him as the type of woman to have a history with any service branch, unless she was a military brat. That seemed more likely. The medals he had framed in the living room weren’t self-explanatory; they were medals that you would only know what they were if you _knew_ _what they were_. He’d gotten the feeling she knew what they were already. That kind of knowledge wasn’t common.

Following the rabbit hole that was his thought process inevitably brought him back to thinking about Larkin, naked. So he’d spent an inordinate amount of time pouring over pictures of naked women, thinking about his particular naked woman, and what pose he was going to choose for her. He’d had a pose idea going into his enlightening google search, but then the _other_ poses he saw certainly stoked his imagination…and were not appropriate for putting paint to canvas.

He found it a kind of twisted irony that whatever force threw Larkin into his life chose someone this…attractive. She was fucking hot, there was no way around it. He’d thought that _before_ he’d seen her naked. And then when her jeans had hit the floor, he’d thought he was going to pass out. Part of him thought she wore the lingerie on purpose, to fuck with him – _no one_ had a right to look that fucking good in blue lace. But she hadn’t put on a show; Geralt actually thought she was trying hard to make it the _least_ sexy undressing possible.

She failed. And the tent in his sweats was proof enough of that. He was sure he’d come off as gruff storming out of the basement like he had, but he’d take gruff and rude over sporting an erection because of some chick he’d hired to paint, for Christ’s sake.

He hoped this time she wasn’t wearing such ridiculously edible underwear. He hoped he’d be able to keep his mind on the canvas and not on how good Larkin would look sweaty and panting on his bed, or what she would sound like crying his name through an orgasm. He had a feeling she would be loud. He wanted to know if he was right.

As he was thinking all these things, the doorbell rang.

*****

Geralt waited until they were both inside and the door was shut before insulting what Larkin was wearing.

“Did you just roll out of bed and come over here in your pajamas?”

“Rude! I will have you know these are not my sleeping pajamas, this is my ‘professional’ loungewear, thank you very much.”

“Professional?” Geralt asked, smirking.

“Yes. This is acceptable for me to roll up in for Saturday study groups.”

“Do you really have to be professional if you’re in the study group?”

“I’m a grad student, handsome. I _lead_ the study groups. How old do you think I am?” Larkin asked while scrunching her face up.

Shit. Geralt had miscalculated. “Twenty-two?” He said, his voice raising by an octave, at least. He’d honestly thought younger, but he _really_ didn’t want to offend her.

Larkin laughed out loud, loudly. “Darling, I’m twenty-six. You weren’t _that_ far off.”

She was only four years younger than he was, at most. That…changed things. _FUCK_. He’d told himself she was too young, at twenty, or twenty-one. But twenty-six? That was doable. _She_ was doable. _Shit_.

Geralt continued his internal tirade as Larkin toed off her sneakers by the door, then led her into the kitchen. He’d felt compelled to make her coffee as a peace offering for having her get up earlier than she otherwise would. He saw her looking at the mugs laid out, and she looked…sheepish.

“You good?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Do you happen to have any creamer? My coffee order is…complicated. If you don’t, it’s not a big deal.”

“Complicated…how?”

“I take coffee with my creamer, if that’s any indication.”

Geralt couldn’t help but smile. “Text me your creamer order, I’ll make sure to have it on hand next time.”

“You really don’t have to do that – you’re already paying me to be here; I don’t want to start racking up a ‘creamer tab’,” Larkin’s laugh sounded like what sunshine feels like. “I could always just get my own fucking coffee,” she said with a smile. “Shall we get to it?”

Geralt looked at her, amused. “You got somewhere to be?”

“No, the only thing waiting for me at the end of this is my _bed_ ,” and the way she said ‘bed’, she almost _moaned_ it, and that made Geralt’s insides clench up unexpectedly. He’d never envied an inanimate object more.

“Rough night?” he asked, smirking. They still hadn’t moved from the kitchen.

“No, actually – knowing you were my nine o’clock this morning was good incentive to keep me on schedule last night.”

“Hmm.” Grabbing a cup of coffee for himself, he led the way downstairs to the studio.

Geralt realized he was in trouble when Larkin’s underwear turned out to be dusty pink mesh, top and bottom. It was by no means ‘fuck me right now’ lingerie, but Geralt was slowly coming to realize she could probably wear a paper bag and he would still think she was fucking sexy as shit.

_Fuck._

He realized she was still wearing a necklace before he got her to pose. The chain dangled right between her breasts, and his eyes narrowed, because it looked _familiar_.

“Are you…wearing dog-tags?” He asked, unable to mask the incredulity in his voice.

“Yes.”

“Can you take them off?”

“No. That’s non-negotiable.”

“Hmm.”

“They were my father’s. I don’t take them off.”

_Were. Oh._ Geralt sighed. He knew a few widows that did the same.

“Ok. That’s fine. So, I was thinking you could stand with your back to me, arms over your head, holding one elbow with the other hand,” Geralt started, and Larkin moved as he spoke, “Yeah, like that, and kind of turn your body slightly to the right – a little less, there! That’s it! – so I can capture the swell of your breast, but not the full side, and kind of jut your right hip out, just a little – yeah, that’s good.”

He paused. Geralt was impressed with how well Larkin took direction – he’d had nightmares that he would have to physically direct her – like actually touch her – to get her to pose how he wanted. But he didn’t, and his waking nightmare was averted and he was impressed.

He told her so.

“I had a lot of practice when I was little,” She said, and wasn’t _that_ another nugget of information he wasn’t expecting.

Instead of replying, he hummed.

“Is this position ok for you? Will you be comfortable standing like this for awhile?”

“I mean, I think I may have to take breaks every now and then because my arms are over my head, but otherwise, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

He noticed she wasn’t fidgeting nearly as much as she had the two times they’d met before, and mentioned it.

“I took meds before I got here, to make sure.”

“What’d you take?” Geralt asked, dying to know. Larkin shot him a look he couldn’t quite parse, but answered anyway.

“Klonopin.”

_Oh. Definitely not ADHD, then,_ he thought to himself. _He_ had a prescription for Klonopin, to help with panic attacks. Huh.

The rest of the session – which lasted three hours – went as well as could be expected for two grown adults of _much_ better than average attractiveness interacting with one another while one of them is naked.

That is to say, Geralt was thankful Larkin was facing away from him so she didn’t see the physical reaction to her presence, and Larkin was thankful Geralt couldn’t see her flushed cheeks.

Geralt spent much of those three hours _admiring_ (while also outlining her form). He admired the curve of her ass, the spill of her hair over her shoulders, the swell of her breast from the angle he had. He admired the muscle definition in her arms, and her legs (and her ass). Geralt very much admired her ass. He was sure, were he a more verbose person, he could dedicate several volumes of poetry to her ass alone.

But Geralt’s not a very verbose person. Which is fine, because Larkin _is_. They just hadn’t figured that part out yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Yen, huh?
> 
> Wonder if she shows back up. *Cackles gleefully and does the finger pyramid of evil*
> 
> **No Yennefer's will be harmed in the writing of this fiction.**


	6. Violet Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jask and Yen meet, and fuck, in a fancy club bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If images do not display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)

**Little Lark [4:10 PM]:** You’re sure you and Aiden don’t wanna come with me tonight?

**Lambert [4:11 PM]:** Well, Himself is working, and I’ve got grading to do (THANKS FOR NOTHING JERKFACE). Also, The Sugar Cube is not exactly my kinda joint – WHY are you going there again?

**Little Lark [4:13 PM]:** Boss, those are MID-TERMS. I can legit not grade those, you have to read their submissions. Sugar Cube wasn’t my choice – believe me, it’s about as much your kinda place as mine. I’ve been told I have to wear heels, Lamb. If I break my ankle, you’ll know why.

**Lambert [4:20 PM]:** Get someone to take a picture or send me a selfie. I want to see you looking ridiculous, Jas. I live for this shit.

**Little Lark [4:22 PM]:** You’re lucky I love you, jackass.

**Lambert [4:23 PM]:** ILY, too! DON’T FORGET MY SELFIE.

Larkin had been invited to go out for celebratory drinks for a friend in her department at the University – invited to drinks at the poshest, most pretentious, and most reminiscent-of-a-rocketship bar Oxenfurt had to offer.

The Sugar Cube was a very trendy Euro-style bar, all glass tables and chairs, multi colored lights and bass-pounding dance music. Larkin had been a couple times before, always at the invitation of someone else, because her usual attire of goofy t-shirts, converse sneakers and sweatshirts wasn’t going to cut it here. She opted instead for a pair of opalescent dark silver leggings, a narrow black tube top, a see-through silver knit mesh sweater, and a pair of platform black stilettos.

The bar was within walking distance to her apartment, which probably would have been a better idea if she weren’t wearing heels you could kill someone with. She arrived at the bar without breaking anything, and was invited to skip the line by the bouncer who apparently _knew who she was_ (Not as Larkin Pantkratz, that is). She’d forgotten that happened at places like this. She ended up grabbing a couple people she knew from school already in line to bring in with her so they didn’t have to wait out in the cold. She asked the bouncer to take a picture of her, and he was only too happy to oblige, asking for a selfie with her in exchange. She begged him not to post it, but knew that was a pipe dream.

Once inside, she sent the required selfie to Lambert, and went to find her friends, who were already several drinks in by the time she arrived. She grabbed a coke from the bartender, and chatted with people she knew for a little while.

About a half hour after arriving, a woman sidled up to Larkin at the bar.

“You look like something I’d like to do later,” came the seductive purr from Larkin’s left.

Larkin shifted her eyes slowly to her left, turning her head ever so slightly, taking a sip from the straw in her coke. The purr belonged to a woman with dark curls, ruby red lips, and fucking _violet_ eyes. Maybe she was a mermaid. She was fucking _working_ a skin tight long-sleeved white dress, with white and black stilettos to complete her ensemble. The dress fit her like a glove, and Larkin wondered what she had on underneath it.

“That right?” Larkin asked, dryly. “Would you be considered a good choice, or a bad choice?”

“Oh, darling, I’m a _very_ good choice. Why don’t I show you?”

And with that, she got up from her NASA quality barstool, took Larkin’s hand, and led Larkin to the women’s restroom.

Larkin was amused to see the bathroom _did not disappoint_ in terms of continuing the weirdly specific aesthetic. Larkin’s favorite accent she saw before she was devoured was a neon pink sign proclaiming “Please don’t do coke in the bathroom”.

Classy.

Then Larkin didn’t have much of a chance to register anything other than Violet Eyes’ mouth and hands all over her. _All_ over her. Violet eyes backed Larkin up to the sink counter, nudging Larkin to hop up on it. Larkin became very intimately acquainted with the shape, size and taste of Violet Eyes’ teeth and tongue, as their mouths fought for dominance over one another. Violet Eyes was a fan of biting – biting Larkin’s lips, her tongue, her neck, and then further downward as she pulled off Larkin’s mesh sweater and tube top, leaving Larkin naked from the waist up in the bathroom.

At this point, Larkin had no further fucks left to give, leaving Violet Eyes the owner of Larkin’s generous decolletage. Violet Eyes wasted no time in attaching her mouth to one of Larkin’s nipples, and twisting the other rather sharply with two fingers. 

At this point, Larkin was really just along for the ride.

Violet Eyes started trying to shimmy the leggings off of Larkin while she was seated, so Larkin took it upon herself to pick Violet Eyes up by her armpits, grab her shirts and purse, and push them both into an open bathroom stall.

Violet Eyes gave a very indignant noise upon being deposited on her feet in the stall.

“I am not a sack of potatoes!” Violet Eyes irately exclaimed.

“You’re absolutely right. Dressed much nicer, and quite a bit heavier than one.” Larkin retorted, pulling Violet Eyes’ shoes off, so she wouldn’t injure herself. Larkin kicked off her own shoes, and pulled her leggings off, leaving her completely naked in front of the other woman.

“Oh, I _like_ you,” Violet Eyes purred, again.

Larkin wasted no time in spilling Violet Eyes around, unzipping her dress, pulling it down, and hanging it on the hook on the door to the stall. She found Violet Eyes was wearing a matching set of embroidered white mesh bra and panties. Larkin pulled the panties down, and off, then pushed Violet Eyes’ legs open further to give her better access to her pussy. Kneeling in front of the other woman, she held eye contact for 30 seconds solid, making her intentions known.

“Do I have your permission to touch you?”

“Fuck, yes, gorgeous, please,” Violet Eyes panted.

Larkin pushed her face forward, parting the other woman’s perfectly groomed lower lips, finding her fucking dripping wet. Larkin licked a long stripe up spanning the length of her pussy, then focused on the other woman’s clit, pushing two fingers inside, hearing incoherent moans above her. Larkin began fucking Violet Eyes with her fingers, and obeyed when Violet Eyes pleaded for more fingers. Four fingers now, fucking in and out of Violet Eyes, whose knees had started to shake. Larkin wrapped her other arm around Violet Eyes’ waist, to catch her in case her knees gave out. She focused her efforts on the other woman’s clit, sucking, nibbling and licking.

Larkin pulled away, looking up at Violet Eyes. “How do you feel about fisting?” she asked nonchalantly.

Violet Eyes’ eyes were unfocused, and she took a moment to process, whining at the loss of contact with Larkin’s mouth and fingers.

“Do it.”

Larkin got to work. She gently re-inserted the tips of her four fingers, feeling Violet Eyes’ walls fluttering around her hand. She tucked her thumb into her palm tightly, and slowly, so slowly, pushed her hand in. Violet Eyes readjusted her legs to give Larkin more room, her moaning taking on a keening edge. Once Larkin’s entire hand was inside Violet Eyes, she curled her fingers into a fist, and started fucking her with it.

Violet Eyes was very receptive. Larkin heard a litany of “Oh, my God, yes” and “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, Jesus” and “Harder, oh, harder, _please_ ”. So Larkin did as she was asked, and fucked Violet Eyes as hard as she could without hurting either one of them. She hadn’t let up on the other woman’s clit, lavishing it with attention in time with the thrusts of her hand.

Larkin felt the tissue around her hand swell, and turned her fist around, so her hand was essentially facing herself, and felt for that section of spongy tissue, and put more pressure there, dragging her curled fingers over it, over and over and over.

Violet Eyes was losing her mind above Larkin, as Larkin expected. Larkin grinned around the other woman’s clit.

“What-wha-“

“When you cum, I want you to push, beautiful. Trust me. And maybe try not to scream.”

Larkin made sure all their clothing was out of the way, knowing what was about to happen. She could tell Violet Eyes was getting close – the constant praise had turned into incoherent babbling, and she felt the other woman’s vaginal walls start to constrict. Then all of a sudden Violet Eyes cried out, and pushed, as Larkin instructed, and a flood of liquid was released over Larkin’s hand. (Thankfully, they were in a bathroom, and Violet Eyes was already mostly over the toilet.) Larkin continued licking through the shuddering, until Violet Eyes pushed her mouth away. Larkin gently (so very, very gently) removed her hand, flexing her thumb to get the feeling back.

Larkin looked up at the other woman, licking her lips and wiping a hand over her mouth.

“Holy motherfucking shit, what the _fuck_ was _that_?”

“Well, if you hadn’t done that before, you just squirted. Congratulations.”

Larkin stood up, only then realizing the height difference. Larkin was a good four inches taller than Violet Eyes. No wonder she’d been able to carry her around like a purse. Larkin began pulling her leggings back on, to the protests of one very dazed, very satisfied Violet Eyed stranger.

“Wha- what are you doing?”

“Getting dressed.”

“Don’t you want to, y’know, continue?” the other woman gestured up and down Larkin’s body, as if to demonstrate ‘reciprocation’.

“Not on the first date, hot stuff.”

“Not on the first – are you fucking kidding me?”

“I said what I said. I’m good. Are _you_ good? Do you want me to call you a cab, or call someone to come get you?” Larkin asked as she pulled her tube top on, adjusting it around herself, then pulling her sweater over top. Larkin pulled the white dress off the hook behind her, ready to assist when Violet Eyes had resituated her underwear.

“I-I don’t know. Do you want to, uh, come back to my place?”

“Not tonight, but thank you for asking.”

“Can I at least get your number?”

“Oh, sure,” Larkin said expansively. Violet Eyes pulled out her phone and handed it to Larkin. Larkin put herself in the other woman’s phone as ‘Tube Top’ and handed it back.

Violet Eyes snorted.

Larkin felt her phone buzz in her purse, took it out, changed Violet Eyes’ contact name to ‘Violet Eyes’, saved it, then put her phone away.

Larkin double checked that the other woman was completely dressed before stepping out of the stall. There were three other women standing at the sinks who all had openmouthed stares directed at Larkin and Violet Eyes.

Larkin smirked. “Whatever she was drinking, y’all should try it.” She said, walking up to the sink and washing her hands and face with soap and water. Once her face and hands were dry, she put her heels back on and started walking toward the door.

“Wait! What’s your name?” Violet Eyes called.

Larkin looked back over her shoulder and smiled. “Larkin,” she said, as she left the bathroom.

*****

A few minutes later, after she’d said her goodbyes to her friends, she texted Lambert.

**Little Lark [8:23 PM]:** Hot Mess Express heading home for the night!

**Lambert [8:24: PM]:** Jesus, kid, you were there for what – an hour fifteen? At most?

**Little Lark [8:26 PM]:** Just enough time to say hello, goodbye, and fuck someone in the bathroom.

**Lambert [8:27 PM]:** ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW. HOW. HOW does this always happen to YOU. [headbang emoji]

**Little Lark [8:28 PM]:** [shoulder shrug emoji] Dunno, boss. She just slid up to me at the bar, said ‘you look like something I’d like to do later’ and dragged me into the bathroom.

**Lambert [8:28 PM]:** You at least get a name this time?

**Little Lark [8:29 PM]:** Why would I need it? LOL. She asked for MY name, though.

**Lambert [8:30 PM]:** Didja give it to her?

**Little Lark [8:30 PM]:** Eventually.

**Lambert [8:33 PM]:** Aren’t you getting tired of the ‘fuck and run’ gig? Don’t you want to like, settle down with someone?

**Little Lark [8:34 PM]:** You find me someone worth settling down with, and we’ll see.

**Lambert [8:35 PM]:** Eskel.

**Little Lark [8:35 PM]:** You and I both know I am not good enough for him. He deserves someone less…emotionally challenged. He deserves someone who would stay the night, Lambert.

**Lambert [8:37 PM]:** Worth a shot. You’re still coming for dinner at the house the day after tomorrow, right?

**Little Lark [8:38 PM]:** Wouldn’t miss it. Didn’t Eskel say your other brother, the grumpy one was gonna be there?

**Lambert [8:39 PM]:** No, Eskel calls him stern. *I* call him grumpy. And yes, he should be coming.

**Little Lark [8:40 PM]:** Oh boy!

**Lambert [8:41 PM]:** He is going to HAAAATE you and I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE IT.

**Little Lark [8:43 PM]:** Your chaos sibling level is unrivaled and applaud you, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow at class. Give Aiden kisses for me when he gets home from work.


	7. Family Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worlds Collide. Violently. At first.

When Geralt pulled up to the farmhouse, there was a familiar car parked in front of it that _did not_ belong in this driveway. A sinking feeling began to settle in his gut about the evening stretching before him.

As he walked up the wooden steps to the porch, he could hear Larkin’s warm, vibrant laugh over something – Eskel? – said, and her tone, when she spoke, indicated a certain closeness with whomever was around. Geralt instantly felt possessive and jealous, but he couldn’t say about whom or toward what.

“What the fuck is _she_ doing here?” Geralt growled, as soon as he banged through the screen door to the kitchen.

“Oi! Rude!” Larkin replied, indignant. She glared at him under the safety of Eskel’s left arm, which hung around her shoulders with worrying familiarity.

“Fuck you, Geralt, I invited her, that’s what! This is Jaskier!” Lambert barked back, tone harsh.

“No, that’s _Larkin_ , Lambert.”

“No, genius, this is Jaskier, my TA. Not your hot naked model.”

Geralt stood before Lambert’s unflinching murderous gaze, glaring angrily back at him, neither man willing to back down. Brothers, to the core.

Now, Eskel - not engaged in the stare down - slid his eyes over to Larkin, still tucked under his arm.

“Um. Huh. Well. Huh.” Larkin managed to look contrite, despite the circumstances. “This is unexpected,”

“So _this_ is the friend you won’t shut up about? The one you and Aiden want to _adopt_?”

“Look who’s talking, asshole. I’m not the _only_ one who ‘won’t shut up’ about her.”

“ _Lambert_.” Geralt hissed, his cheeks starting to burn.

“No, no – what was it you said? If I recall correctly, and I _do_ , it was something along the lines of ‘her ass is the most beautiful-“

“ _LAMBERT_.” Geralt cut him off before he could continue.

“Eyes like a cloudless summer sky-“

“Wait, really?” Larkin interrupted. “Geralt, I’m amazed you strung that many words together at once because of _me_. Or, was this interpretive grunting? Do y’all have a manual for that, or like a dictionary?”

Eskel chuckled and shrugged. “You get used to it.”

“How does texting work? Is there an app for that? Translating ‘hmm’s’?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Geralt said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, no thanks,” Larkin said brightly, “I’ll pass. I already filled my ‘venomous bite’ quota for the month.”

“Jas,” Eskel said, into her hair, “It’s the fourth of October.”

“I’m very efficient.” Larkin deadpanned.

Geralt didn’t know how he should feel if that was a joke. He especially didn’t know how he should feel if it _wasn’t_.

“ _Jesus_ , kid, when do you find the _time_?” Lambert cried, eyes wide.

Apparently…it wasn’t a joke. That uncomfortable coil in his gut got tighter.

“You know my rule.” She said, grinning at Lambert. “I’m very efficient.”

Geralt most certainly did _not_ know her rule. He suddenly felt the intense desire to know it.

“Wait, was that the chick from _last night_?” Lambert asked, eyes wide. “You didn’t give me many details.”

“It’s still not _worth_ any details, Boss. I fucked a hot chick in a bathroom at a space ship club.”

“Jas, what was it Lambert mentioned to me about last March?” Eskel asked, grinning.

Larkin turned to Lambert, mouth hanging open. “Tell me this is not a thing that is discussed. Lamb. C’mon, man, seriously?” Whatever reaction Larkin was hoping for she wasn’t getting. “My sex life is _that_ much of a conversation piece with your…brother?” 

Brother. Singular. Geralt frowned.

“Jas, you’re kind of a legend on campus.” Lambert said, looking sheepish. Larkin gave Lambert an exaggerated eye roll. “You ARE.”

“So,” Geralt started after clearing his throat, “What happened last March?”

“Oh, we’re speaking to each other civilly, now! How delightful. Lambert bet me I couldn’t have sex with a new person every day of March last year.” Larkin shrugged after speaking, like it was _no big deal_ that was a bet that was made.

“She won,” Lambert said, sounding 1000% done.

“How would you even _prove_ that?”

“Facetime calls after. Partly to make sure she was still alive, and partly to verify.”

“How is that even possible? How would you even find that many guys-“

“Well, that’s half your problem, right there. It wasn’t _just_ dudes.” Larkin said, giving Geralt major side-eye. “It’s a college campus, man! There was no lack of available bodies.”

“There was a sign-up sheet toward the end,” Lambert said with a grin.

“Yeah, and _that_ was fucking creepy as _shit_. I’m not an extracurricular activity,”

“Aren’t you, though?”

“Fuck you, Lamb,” Larkin said, but there wasn’t any heat in it.

“I’ve _always_ said you’re always welcome,” he laughed, long and loud. “Aiden _loves_ you.”

Larkin rolled her eyes. “You’re my boss. There are _some_ lines I won’t cross,”

“And that line is after ‘blowing shit up in my basement’?”

“Exactly.”

Something had been nagging at Geralt for a few minutes now.

“Eskel, how come you know Larkin?” ‘And I don’t’ was not added, but assumed.

“I met her last year, after one of her gigs. I went with Lambert.”

“Gigs?”

“Jesus, Geralt, she’s a musician for Christ’s sake! The amount of things you don’t know about Jask is _staggering_.”

“He made it very clear from the start this was a business only arrangement. I can almost guarantee he only knows _maybe_ five things about me.”

Geralt didn’t understand why, but he felt insulted. “I know more than five things.”

Larkin looked at him as if to say ‘go on…’.

“You’re a woman, you have blue eyes, you drive…a car, you have a tattoo on your right wrist, and you’re constantly moving.”

“Ok, the last two are actually impressive. But the first three…?”

“What, you’re not gonna tack on ‘she looks good naked’?” Lambert grinned.

“Lambert, you haven’t even _seen_ me naked and you already _know_ I do,” Larkin laughed. She waited a beat. “So, are we done with” she gestured vaguely toward Lambert and Geralt “whatever _this_ is, because I’m fucking starving and if I’m asked to leave, I’d rather get that out of the way sooner rather than later, so I can go find some food.”

“Don’t go,” both men said at once.

Eskel tapped her shoulder and nodded his head toward the counters behind him, to have her help get dinner sorted. Geralt watched as Eskel’s arm finally – _finally_ – unwound from her shoulder.

They were having pot roast from the crock pot. Eskel dished bowls up, and Larkin set the table. When the three of them had been growing up, pot roast had been a staple at this table. Vesemir had made sure to teach all three of them how to make it, before they’d all moved out (well, before Vesemir had moved out of the farmhouse and into the cabin further back on the property, leaving Eskel with the house).

Everyone sat and dished out a serving, then they all began to eat.

*****

After dishes had been cleared, Geralt caught Larkin’s eye, and nodded toward the kitchen door leading to the porch. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, looking over his shoulder at Larkin to see if she wanted one, but she shook her head. She told him she didn’t drink.

“Not at all?”

“Not really. I manage to make a spectacular fool of myself without the help of alcohol, so.” She shrugged when she said it.

Geralt led the way to the porch, and sat his hip up on the railing. Larkin leaned her back up against it, facing in toward the house. Geralt noticed her watching him. Waiting.

“So.” Geralt started. Gods, _why_ were words so difficult for him? He knew words! He knew how he felt about things, sometimes. He just wasn’t able to translate that into speakable words to people, most of the time.

Geralt watched Larkin give him what he thought was a fond smile. “So.”

“It’s a pretty nice night, for an evening,” he said. _WHAT. What was that._ He groaned, inwardly. Apparently, Larkin’s mere presence made him incapable of normal speech patterns. He watched her smile at him, slightly – she wasn’t making fun, but she was amused.

“You all right over there?” she asked, lightly.

“I’m not good with words.”

She nodded, slightly. “I know. That’s ok. I probably have enough for the both of us.”

_This_ was better. Larkin made it better. She made speaking less…fraught. He hadn’t known her long, but she hadn’t really pushed him to speak, or gotten frustrated with his silences so far. That had been a problem with Yen. Yen wasn’t…patient. When they fought, which they’d done often, she would back him into verbal corners making him lash out, saying things he wouldn’t have otherwise.

“Eskel tells me you’re the horse guy here,” Larkin said, throwing him a conversational bone.

Geralt snorted. “Horse guy,”

“Well, what I _think_ he said was ‘We rescue horses, and Geralt is the one who rehabilitates them.’ So, what I extrapolated was ‘Horse Guy’.”

“I see,” Geralt was smirking.

“You like it?”

“Wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t like it.”

Larkin had a sharp look for just a moment, like she wanted to argue with him, then seemed to reconsider, and held her tongue.

“So, you’re a musician?”

“I am.”

“What do you play?”

“It might be easier to tell you what instruments I _don’t_ play.”

Geralt’s eyebrows might have reached his hairline at that.

“I had a…better than average musical education when I was growing up, and got my undergrad at Julliard.”

“Hmm.”

“I know, it sounds pretty pretentious, doesn’t it? I just really love music. It’s something I shared with my dad, before he died. I think he would have been really proud of me. I’d _like_ to think that, anyway.”

Geralt noticed she said it in a way that implied the rest of her family would _not_ be proud of her, and he didn’t know he felt about that. From the very, very little she’d spoken about her remaining family, they sounded like a big bag of dicks to Geralt.

“What’s your favorite instrument to play?”

“Oh, that’s a toss up between violin and guitar. Not as much call for a non-classical violinist, though – although Lindsay Stirling is doing one hell of a job on her own, making that a genre. I mostly play guitar these days, although if a venue has a piano, I’m down.”

Geralt had no idea who that was, but that didn’t bother him.

“You any good?” he asked, curious to see how she’d answer.

Larkin laughed out loud, very loudly. “I like to think so. If not, those two albums I released were a mistaaaakkke,”

“You’re serious.”

Larkin continued to chuckle. “I am indeed serious. Hold on,” Larkin peeked her head back in the house and called for Lambert. “You have a copy of my latest album on your phone, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I wanna show Geralt.”

“Don’t you have it?”

“No, goofy, why would I? I’m the one who sang the fucking songs!”

Lambert walked out onto the porch and shoved his phone in his brother’s face. Jaskier did indeed have two albums, and Lambert had them both.

Geralt chose ‘Her Sweet Kiss’ and Larkin walked away, back inside the house.

_A storm raging on the horizon_

_Of longing, and heartache, and lust_

_She’s always bad news_

_It’s always lose-lose_

_So, tell me, love, tell me, love_

_How is that just?_

_But the story is this_

_She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss_

_Her sweet kiss_

Larkin was an amazing singer. Geralt was really impressed, and he wasn’t a huge music afficionado. 

“It’s over!” Lambert called back into the house. “You’re not gonna play any more of that one, right?”

Geralt shook his head, and handed the phone back to his brother.

Larkin pushed back through the screen door, and took back her position on the railing. Geralt raised an eyebrow at her, in question.

“I wrote that about an ex.” Geralt continued to look at her, to encourage her to keep going, if she wanted. “It…didn’t end well. She’s the reason I added that clause to the employment contract, about videography and photography.”

_Oh, SHIT_. Geralt thought about the ramifications of that type of…privacy violation and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Larkin must have seen the look on his face.

“Whatever you’re thinking – it was worse. I ended up changing my name, didn’t stay at Julliard for my PhD…you name it.”

“Jesus, Jask, why didn’t you _say_ anything?” Lambert asked, his face a mask of ‘WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK’.

“It’s over now.”

“If you say so,” Lambert said, sounding very skeptical. “In the event something like that happens again…I’m #1 on speed dial, ok? Eskel’s next.”

“You’re forgetting Renfri.”

“DO NOT tell her that. She’s first. I’m second.”

“Who’s Renfri?” Geralt asked.

“My best friend-“

“WHO IS THE MOST TERRIFYING WOMAN ON THE PLANET, GERALT.”

“She is NOT, Lambert. She likes you!”

“She threatened to flay me alive and make me eat my own skin, Jask.”

“Like I said, she likes you! She usually threatens to gut people, and hang them up by their entrails.”

Geralt didn’t know if he should feel as amused and intrigued by that as he was.

“Lark – are there any other weirdly fascinating secrets you’re hiding?” Geralt asked, fully expecting to get smacked.

He was not wrong. He did, in fact, get smacked (albeit very lightly) by Larkin. However, it was Lambert who delivered the next nugget of wisdom.

“JASKIER’S ROYALTY.”

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake, Lambert, I never should have told you that. And _that_ , darling Geralt, is why I don’t drink.”

“Wait, for real? Like…actual royalty?”

“NO. Technically, I’m _nobility_ , which is different. And, honestly, I’m not even _that_ , anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I was disinherited.”

“Oh, shit, Jas, you didn’t tell me that. I would never have brought it up-“ Lambert said, tripping over himself to apologize.

_Well_. That was…not great. _Her family really is a big bag of dicks_ , Geralt thought. He really didn’t think he _had_ words for what that was.

Geralt decided to ask the other question he desperately wanted to know the answer to.

“Lark – what was the rule you told Lambert you had, when you were talking about last March?”

Geralt was relieved that that made Larkin laugh out loud, bringing a smile back to her beautiful face. He felt pleased that he was the one to put it there.

“I don’t sleep over, and no one stays at my place.”

“You don’t –“

“I fuck and run. Or, well, walk.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, I haven’t met anyone I’ve liked enough or trusted to physically sleep with.”

“Hmm.”

“You do a really good impersonation of my psychiatrist, I have to say. That’s impressive. I just…I have a hard time with feelings and I don’t like complicated. This cuts down on the bullshit by a good 1,000%.”

Geralt didn’t disagree with her assessment.

He downloaded both her albums later that night, when he was back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to state, for the record, that the woman Jaskier notes in "Her Sweet Kiss" is none other than Countess de Stael. I'm not sure if she'll get named later in this series or not, so I wanted it to be noted HERE that she's a right bitch and treated our favorite bard with wanton disrespect.
> 
> **Privacy, both online and in-person is no joke, kids. Please be careful with your phone/mobile device settings, location settings, camera permissions, etc. /end mom rant.**


	8. 4 + 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four times Jaskier touches Geralt by accident, and one time she doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If images don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)

**1.**

The first time Jaskier and Geralt touched was completely by accident. It was a Sunday morning; they’d gotten multiple sessions under their belt and had developed a rhythm. Geralt would unlock the front door around 8:30 (in the off chance Jask was early, which she had never been) and Jaskier would just come in, instead of knocking.

This morning was no different. Larkin opened the door, called out ‘Hey, it’s me!’ and began trying to remove the comfy Ugg-type boots she was wearing. (They were not Uggs. Jaskier was not a fan.) She tried. She’d gotten the first one off all right, but she was wearing socks, and she tried taking the second one off standing up on a hardwood floor.

You can see where this is going.

Thankfully, Geralt came upstairs when he heard Jaskier call out, and was in the living room to catch Jaskier before she faceplanted on his living room floor. As soon as he got an arm-full of Jaskier, he panicked (thinking back to the ‘no touching’ clause of the contract) and set her upright like touching her was burning him.

Jask tilted her head to the side and looked at him quizzically, then considered, and smiled.

“Relax, G, it was an accident and you were helping me avoid breaking my face. Safety reasons and accidents will always trump that clause. Besides, I trust you.”

Her admission almost made Geralt pass out.

**2.**

The second time Geralt and Jaskier touched was also an accident.

Geralt and Jaskier were taking a break one Sunday morning, and had come upstairs to get refills on coffee (Jaskier had texted Geralt her preferred type of creamer, which he always had on hand now). On her way over, she’d stopped by her favorite bagel place, texting Geralt to ask what he wanted (everything bagel with bacon, egg and cheddar). She also picked up a half-dozen donuts, as a surprise treat (he’d gotten past a tough part of the painting that had been giving him a lot of grief for a few weeks). She’d noticed in the couple months they’d been spending time together Geralt had a pretty big sweet tooth. She figured going out on a limb and getting donuts wasn’t really that much of a stretch.

She only got one pink frosted with sprinkles. That was a mistake.

Jaskier could tell Geralt was pleased because his ‘resting witch face’ shifted _ever so slightly_ and there was the barest hint of a smile on his face. 

They saved the donuts for the now-routine break they took around the hour and a half mark and as they gathered at the kitchen island, _they both went for the pink frosted with sprinkles_.

WHO COULD HAVE SEEN THAT COMING.

Geralt had been first, by the barest hint of a second, and Jaskier ended up awkwardly holding hands with him in her attempt at her favorite donut of all time, pink frosted with sprinkles.

It was telling that neither of them attempted to move immediately.

Once they did let go of one another, the ‘no you have it – no YOU have it’ argument-that-wasn’t-an-argument started.

Jaskier let Geralt have it, because she wasn’t a jerk. (She brought them, therefore it was her gift to him, and it was his pink frosted with sprinkles donut – she didn’t think Geralt was a jerk.)

Geralt didn’t stop thinking about holding her hand all day.

**3.**

One Sunday morning, Jaskier needed a bathroom break sooner than the regular break mark. Her gig the night before ran long, and she’d needed extra coffee that morning to function at Geralt levels. Thankfully, Geralt had a half bath on the first floor, in between the living room and kitchen. Taking the steps two at a time, Jaskier all but threw herself into the bathroom; Geralt coming up the stairs at a much more sedate pace, shaking his head.

“You know, you can take a break whenever you want, Jas; there isn’t a rule set about it.” Geralt called through the door.

“I don’t like interrupting your work,” she called back.

Geralt’s chest tightened. He walked into the kitchen to get more coffee and was on his way back down to the basement when the bathroom door opened and Jaskier stepped out.

This was the second time Geralt had ended up with an armful of Jaskier, but this time said armful was _naked_.

Geralt had _no idea_ where to put his hands.

He ended up kind of wrapping her in his arms, careful to keep his arms away from any _sensitive_ areas.

Geralt was not having the best of days, that day. His crush on Jaskier – he had eventually, _finally_ , admitted – _allowed_ himself to admit – that he had a crush on Jaskier; a rather large one if he was being honest with himself – was becoming hard to ignore. Harder to ignore, now, with one naked Jaskier in his arms.

He thought he’d been doing all right, all things considered. Their sessions were going _well,_ the painting was turning out better than he could have imagined. He enjoyed spending time with her. That was new; he wasn’t used to enjoying people’s company. He wished their sessions could be longer – well, that wasn’t exactly right. He wished she would _stay_ longer. He wanted Jaskier to _hang out_. He kind of thought she wanted to, too; it was how she _lingered_ , when she was getting ready to go. Geralt knew for _a_ _fact_ it didn’t take an extra half an hour to put on a pair of slip-on shoes. But he didn’t know the right words to say to get her to stay. He’d had the barest figment of a fleeting thought – asking Jaskier if she wanted to be his roommate – living in his head rent-free for the past couple weeks. He hadn’t said anything to anyone about it, not even his therapist, because _it was crazy, right?_ They’d only known each other a couple of months by this point. Maybe he’d talk to his therapist about it.

He wasn’t used to this. The wanting. Seeing Jaskier naked once a week for two months wasn’t helping, although he really didn’t want it to end. He’d honestly thought of ways to…extend the painting process, although he hadn’t had the guts to do anything yet. His masturbation fantasies had never been so vivid, though. There was a fair bit more of _that_ going on, these days, truth be told. Not surprising, given the object of his very secret affections spent the majority of her time in his house naked.

The part that drove Geralt absolutely _wild_ was Jaskier was so blasé about the whole thing. Their first couple sessions, he thought she was trying to come on to him. She was a flirt. He’d seen it that night at dinner, at the farm. But, he’d come to realize she was just…playful. It wasn’t flirting with a purpose, necessarily; she was just naturally flirty and playful. Geralt likened it to ‘flirting without intent’. Yen had been the exact opposite. Everything Yen did served a purpose, flirting included. Geralt wondered if part of Jaskier’s playfulness had to do with her being a performer.

So now, once again finding himself up close and personal with his naked model, he couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said, chuckling.

Her sheepish smile was heart-meltingly adorable.

“Maybe we should get you a robe,” Geralt was hesitant, but he delighted when Jask lit up at his suggestion.

They still hadn’t moved. 

The next time Jaskier came for a Sunday session, there was a new, beautiful, multicolored silk robe hanging on a hook Geralt had installed for the sole purpose of robe hanging, in the basement.

Jaskier was ecstatic.

**4.**

Jaskier was running late to a Sunday session. She’d texted on the way, she’d overslept (the first time that had happened, kind of surprising both of them). She was feeling out of it; she’d gotten home very late from a gig the night before (she was an extrovert, there was no denying it, but sometimes people and crowds were just _too damn much_ , and last night was one of those nights) and had gotten very little sleep and hadn’t even had time to put in her contact lenses, so she was wearing her glasses, which Geralt hadn’t seen her in yet, and he might yell at her about, and she might be having a mid-grade panic attack thinking about upsetting Geralt because her thoughts were racing as fast as her heartbeat and she hadn’t had any caffeine yet and she’d asked Geralt to have a cup on stand-by for her when she got there and she was legitimately almost in tears on the drive over thinking about disappointing her White Wolf and by the time she walked in the door Geralt was already standing there with a cup ready to go and he took one look at her and told her to take a deep breath and when he held out the cup with his right hand, she grabbed his left instead, and held it.

Not missing a beat, Geralt handed her the cup into her other hand, the hand that wasn’t currently holding his.

Jaskier was dimly aware he still hadn’t let go.

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Three hours.”

Geralt immediately removed the cup of coffee from her hand, taking his other hand back, to bring the coffee back into the kitchen.

“You don’t need coffee, Lark, you need a _nap_.”

“No, but, I’m here-“

“You look like you’re three seconds away from hyperventilating. Scale of 1-10, what’s your anxiety level right now?”

“11.”

“You have rescue meds on you?”

“I used the last one in my purse last night at my gig, and didn’t restock before I left this morning.”

“Do you need something? I have Klonopin.”

“No, I can pose-“

“Nope, not doing that right now. It’s naptime. C’mon upstairs, I’ll get you settled and when you wake up, we can get going.”

Larkin felt Geralt put his arm around her shoulders and guide her to the stairs. She’d never been upstairs in his house before. They went up the flight of stairs, and were in a hallway, with a room at the back of the house, and a room at the front of the house, and what looked to be a bathroom in between. Geralt led the way to the room at the back of the house, which turned out to be the master bedroom.

“I just assumed you stood on a marble pedestal when not in use,” Jask said, her lack of sleep completely removing her filter. She heard Geralt chuckle.

She looked around Geralt’s bedroom, and was not surprised that it matched the relative austerity of the rest of the house – not that it looked cheaply furnished by any stretch of the imagination (her apartment certainly was, grad-student budget and all that). There was a wall of windows opposite the door, and the bed was to the left of the door, parallel with the back wall. The bed was huge. There was a long wooden dresser opposite the bed, and nightstands flanking the bed, and that was it in terms of furniture.

Geralt walked up to the bed and pulled down the duvet and the flat sheet, and motioned for her to come over.

“But that’s your bed.”

“I know.”

“But _you_ sleep in your bed.”

Jaskier watched a slow smile spread across Geralt’s lips. “I’m aware,”

“But I-“

“Get in the damn bed and take a nap, Lark.”

“But-“

“Would you like some assistance?” he asked, and _oh_ , the way he said it gave Jaskier _ideas_. Explicit, pornographic ideas. She must’ve had some kind of look on her face, because Geralt asked her “You all right?”

Jaskier shook her head to clear it. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m, I’m fine.” She yawned.

Jaskier thought Geralt looked skeptical, but he stayed silent.

“Bathroom’s the middle door in the hall, if you need it. Shout if you need me.”

Jaskier took a step closer to the bed as Geralt walked to the bedroom door.

“Sweet dreams, Larkin,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

Jaskier slid into his bed, snuggling into the world’s most comfortable mattress, topped with the world’s softest sheets and fluffiest duvet.

The pillows smelled like Geralt. Jaskier found it soothing. 

She fell asleep almost instantly.

**+1**

While Jaskier was taking a nap in Geralt’s bed, Geralt was kind of freaking out about it.

Oh, she’d looked like six shades of hell when she’d walked in that morning; Geralt knew _exactly_ what a panic attack looked like and Jaskier looked to be having a hell of a bad time with one as soon as she’d opened the door and taken a step inside his house.

She was wearing _glasses_. He’d never _seen_ her in glasses before, she was fucking adorable.

And then she held his hand. She was obviously not herself; it didn’t mean anything. It _didn’t_. He was _pretty_ sure it didn’t mean anything.

He didn’t want to let go until it was absolutely necessary.

The thought of giving her _coffee_ turned _his_ stomach, so it took back the cup he’d given her, and sadly, released her hand to go put it back in the kitchen.

She needed a nap more than anything else. _Three hours_ of sleep! _Three_! And what was with her needing to take Klonopin during a gig? Had something happened? Had something gone wrong?

So she was currently sleeping in his bed. _His_ bed. His _bed_. He saw the look she’d given him when he’d asked if she needed any assistance. She’d looked at him like he was the most delicious candy at a candy store and she desperately wanted to find out what he tasted like.

He wanted to let her.

So while she was sleeping upstairs, he didn’t get anything of consequence done. Other than daydreaming.

Three hours passed, and Geralt was restless. Truth be told, he was pacing like a caged animal, waiting for her to wake up.

Then he realized she probably hadn’t eaten anything today, in her rush to get to his house - why hadn’t she just _cancelled_? Not that he wanted her to cancel – well, the session could honestly go fuck itself, they were close to being finished, and having Jask here now was really more just so he could see her than anything else. He was doing detail work at this point.

So, Geralt started cooking.

While he cooked, he thought more about asking her to be his roommate. It’s not that he wanted to take care of her – well, it _was_ , but it wasn’t like he didn’t think she couldn’t do it herself. He just wasn’t sure how good she was at it, if this morning was any indication. He’d talked to his therapist, and she didn’t think he was crazy for thinking about it, or wanting to ask.

His therapist had _encouraged_ him to ask her. His therapist had said people became roommates knowing far less about one another, and having known one another for far less time.

So, that’s what was occupying his mind when Jaskier found him in the kitchen, cooking. He didn’t know how long she’d been leaning in the doorway, watching him, a soft smile on her face.

She waited until he seemed somewhat tuned back into reality before she said ‘hey,’ quietly.

He was impressed – she was able to read a room, all right. She hadn’t made any sudden movements, and hadn’t been loud trying to get his attention. Yen used to do that, when he was ‘tuned out’ and it never turned out well, for either of them. He didn’t handle getting startled well.

But Jaskier – she treated him with care, without needing an instruction manual to do so. He’d wondered about that; how she knew _how_ to, he’d even spoken to his therapist about it. His therapist had said it sounded like Jaskier’s childhood had been…not spectacular, and that Jaskier may simply be treating him how she’d want to be treated in the same circumstance.

“Whatcha makin’?” She asked, from across the kitchen. Geralt nodded his head to her, to invite her over, and she sat on a barstool at the kitchen island.

“Lunch or dinner, take your pick,” he said, smiling slightly.

“No, but what _is_ it you’re making?”

“Beef stew.”

“It smells delicious.”

“Have a good nap?”

“I did, thank you. I have never slept in a more comfortable bed.”

_Let’s see if we can’t make that a habit_ , Geralt thought, but didn’t say.

“Do you want me to strip the bed and run the sheets through the wash?”

Firstly, Geralt almost _lost his shit_ at her use of the word ‘strip’ although he was very aware that is exactly what she did every Sunday in his house for the past few months. Secondly, now his sheets would smell like both he _and_ Jaskier.

So no. No, he didn’t want her to wash the damn sheets.

“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Geralt replied, and his voice did not crack. It most certainly _did not_.

“Well, it’s settled then. I will _not_ wash your sheets, Geralt,” Jaskier laughed, and _oh_ , did that sound do things to Geralt’s heart.

From her perch on her barstool, Jaskier asked, out of the blue “Who’s your favorite Muppet?”

“What?” Geralt asked, laughing. He could not think of a question he would have expected less.

“Your favorite Muppet. And, because I’m feeling generous, I’ll even allow Sesame Street Muppets.”

“Generous,” Geralt smirked. He had to think. _Of course_ he loved the Muppets. No red-blooded human person couldn’t not love the Muppets. “Kermit.”

“How come?”

“He is a sea of calm surrounded by insanity.”

Geralt watched Jaskier consider him. “That was a surprisingly deep assessment of the Muppets,” she said.

“Well, who’s your favorite?”

“Well, that’s complicated. It’s a two-part answer.”

“I’ve got nowhere to be,” Geralt said, smiling.

“Well, my _favorite_ is Crazy Harry, the dude that blows stuff up all the time.”

“Like I said. Sea of insanity.”

“But I think I’m most _like_ Gonzo.”

“Why?” Geralt was serious, he really wanted to know. This was turning out to be a fascinating conversation.

“Because he’s weird. And he’s not ashamed to be who he is. And he shot himself out of a cannon for fun.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at her. “Ima draw the line at loving chickens,”

“Oh, no. Chickens are jerks.”

“You’re painting with very broad strokes, there,” he chuckled.

“Friends of my fa- friends of mine, when I was little, they had a coop, and when I would spend time at their house, I helped collect eggs. Chickens and I, we have a hate-hate relationship.”

Geralt laughed out loud.

The stew was done, and he dished up two bowls, bringing them both to the island, setting one in front of Jaskier, and one at his spot.

“Thank you for cooking, and for letting me enjoy it with you,” Jaskier said, gently cupping his chin with her right hand. Geralt stopped breathing.

They ate in easy silence, occasionally broken by Jaskier humming to herself.

“What’s that?” Geralt asked, wanting to hear more of it.

“Song I’ve been working on.”

“Sing it for me?” Geralt asked hopefully.

Jaskier shook her head. “It’s not finished yet. _You’re_ lucky you’re getting the humming; I don’t usually hum around people.”

_Huh_. And wasn’t that something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If images don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)


	9. Growling is a sign of affection, I swear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a Sunday Session, Jaskier has **Somewhere To Be** , and Geralt _does not like it_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If images don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)

Jaskier arrived at Geralt’s house at the normal time for a Sunday session, nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for what she was wearing.

Instead of the sweats and t-shirts she favored during her sessions (which were easier for her to remove, and didn’t require a lot of fuss on her part) she was wearing a grey sweater-dress and thigh high black suede boots. Her hair was curled, and she was wearing more makeup than she usually did.

Geralt had given her a _very_ skeptical look upon her entrance to his house.

“What?” Jaskier had asked when she’d opened the door and saw the face he was making.

“Are you leaving the house like that?” Geralt asked, judgement leaking into his tone.

“I left _my_ house looking like this, so, yes, I was planning on it. You got a problem?”

“No problem, just surprised, is all.” He’d met her at the door barefoot and shirtless, in a pair of sweatpants. He really had no room to talk. Mostly he was comfortable. A little part of him thrilled to see the look on her face when she saw him shirtless.

Jaskier gave him _severe_ side eye. “I’ve got something to do after this. Easier than going home to change.”

“You’re dressed up like you’re trying to impress someone.”

Jaskier paused. “Maybe I am, Geralt.”

Geralt made a very low noise in his throat that caught Jaskier by surprise.

“Did you just _growl_ at me?” She asked, bewildered. “What is going _on_ with you today? I didn’t realize you had such a strong opinion of my professional pajamas.”

“Your legs’ll get cold.” He really tried to sell it. He really did. He wasn’t very convincing, judging by the very skeptical look Jaskier shot him as she made her way down to the basement.

Geralt almost choked when she started undressing and he saw her underwear.

“Is that supposed to be…underwear?” He asked, unsure. It looked like just a bunch of straps to him. Straps that were fucking sexy as all hell, but straps, nonetheless.

“Yes, it is.”

“It doesn’t look very…practical,”

“It’s not,” she said with a knowing smile, in a way that made his stomach clench up.

Geralt had a very hard time focusing on painting that day.

He ended up making several mistakes on canvas that would take him _days_ to fix.

He could smell Jaskier’s perfume across the room where she was standing. It wasn’t strong, perse – it was just…more _Jaskier_ than he was used to.

Was she going on a date? He was _sure_ she was going on a date. But with whom? And that underwear was meant to be _seen_. He didn’t know much, but he did know that. She was trying to show off for someone. It made Geralt cranky, because he knew she wasn’t trying to show off for _him_.

******

**[White Wolf 12:32 PM]:** Did Jask say anything to you about today?

**[Lambert 12:34 PM]:** No, why, did something happen?

**[White Wolf 12:35 PM]:** No, she was just dressed up when she came over for a session today.

**[Lambert 12:36 PM]:** Well that didn’t last long, did it? What’re you complaining about? Why, you jealous?

**[White Wolf 12:37 PM]:** No. Shut up.

**[Lambert 12:38 PM]:** You ARE.

**[White Wolf 12:39 PM]:** I hate you.

**[Lambert 12:40 PM]:** So what was she wearing? Was it something like this? [Insert Jaskier’s photo from rocketship bar]

**[White Wolf 12:42 PM]:** Christ almighty! That’s…I don’t even know what that is, but it would have gone well with her goddamn underwear today.

**[Lambert 12:43 PM]:** Why, what was up with her underwear?

**[White Wolf 12:45 PM]:** It was just straps. It was a bra and panties made completely out of straps.

**[Lambert 12:46 PM]:** Like a BDSM kind of thing? Was she wearing a collar?

**[White Wolf 12:47 PM]:** Actually, yes, very similar to some stuff Yen used to have. No collar though. Jaskier, not Yen. Yen had a collar.

**[Lambert 12:48 PM]:** You should have taken a picture. For science. Because I’m a science teacher.

**[White Wolf 12:49 PM]:** A) I can’t and B) that’s gross. She’s your friend!

**[Lambert 12:52 PM]:** A friend who has an open invitation to fuck both myself and my boyfriend at any time. We’re flexible friends. You should try it sometime!

**[White Wolf 12:55 PM]:** Hmm.

**[Lambert 12:56 PM]:** Don’t you grumble at me! You’re the one with a crush on her! Fuckin’ ask her out, jackass!

**[White Wolf 12:58 PM]:** Not if she’s seeing someone!

**[Lambert 1:00 PM]:** Jas doesn’t ‘date’ people, Geralt. I have never known her to properly date anyone.

**[White Wolf 1:05 PM]:** Then why tell ME to ask her out, if she doesn’t date people?

**[Lambert 1:06 PM]:** You’re not people. Think about it.

**[White Wolf 1:10 PM]:** Hmm.

*****

Meanwhile, Jaskier was on a date with Yennefer.

Yennefer was taking Jaskier to a Speakeasy.

Yen had texted Jask four days after they fucked in the bathroom, impatient she hadn’t yet heard from the brunette. Yennefer was not used to waiting. Jaskier’s ‘I give no fucks’ attitude was a challenge, and Yennefer _excelled_ at conquering challenges.

Jaskier had seen Yennefer a handful of times since the bathroom sex incident, and she had a great time with Yen each time they saw one another.

Yennefer very much liked taking Jaskier nicer places, and also really enjoyed getting Jaskier lingerie for Yennefer to enjoy at the end of their outings.

The black strappy set that made Geralt bluescreen was one such present from Yennefer.

Jaskier hadn’t told Yen she was wearing it, and couldn’t wait to see the other woman’s reaction. She thought she looked pretty damn good in it, and if Geralt’s reaction was anything to go by, _she did_. She mostly wore the underwear for Yen. Mostly.

She wasn’t too proud to admit she had wanted to see how Geralt would react. She had watched carefully, as she’d taken her dress off, leaving her in just the strappy lingerie and her thigh high black suede boots.

It was at that point she thought Geralt close to passing out. She’d never seen his eyes so big.

That was when he asked her if what she was wearing qualified as underwear. She’d had to chuckle. She’d managed to get both the bra and the underwear off before taking off her boots (she was an entertainer, and _damn_ , did she know how to put on a show). The boots were last (thankfully they zipped up) and by the time she was naked, her White Wolf still looked a little dazed.

She did appreciate the fact he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She appreciated shirtless Geralt a LOT. She appreciated all of Geralt a lot, if she were being honest. Getting to know him better felt…familiar, somehow. It could have been because she knew his brothers so well, but she didn’t think that was the _only_ thing. Being around Geralt felt comfortable to Jaskier in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a child.

It was something she spent no small amount of time contemplating.

Jaskier spent significantly less time contemplating Yennefer.

But neither Geralt nor Yennefer knew that.

Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If images don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)


	10. Whiteout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets stuck at Geralt’s for a night, due to a freakishly early snowstorm.
> 
> AND IT'S CUTE. WTF DID YOU EXPECT?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If images don't work, you can find 'em [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)

**Little Lark [8:23 AM]:** The weather report looks real iffy today – you wanna postpone?

**White Wolf [8:24 AM]:** Up to you, I’m not the one who’ll have to drive in it.

**Little Lark [8:24 AM]:** Um.

**White Wolf [8:25 AM]:** How about this – you come over, we keep an eye on the weather, and if necessary, I can either run you home in my truck, or you can crash on my couch.

The thought of being stuck at Geralt’s house for any length of time was actually kind of appealing to Jaskier, funnily enough. She packed her toothbrush and extra underwear, just in case.

It started snowing on Jaskier’s way over to Geralt’s house. 

Jaskier was kinda looking forward to getting snowed in at Geralt’s.

She didn’t know it, but he was thinking the same thing.

When she opened the front door, she made sure to kick her boots against the foundation of the house to shake off any extra snow, then pulled off her boots to set them next to Geralt’s by the front door. That’s where she dropped her bag (the same place she always dropped it) but this time Geralt commented on it.

“What if you get stuck here? Do you have more stuff in your car?”

Jaskier scrunched up her face. “Uh, what kind of stuff do you think I need, Geralt?”

“Like…girl stuff.”

“I brought a toothbrush, and a change of clothes, and my glasses. I…guess those could be considered ‘girl stuff’? Although, I really think those are gender neutral?”

“But don’t you have…stuff?”

“Geralt, I honestly don’t know what you mean, are you expecting I carry a hairdryer around with me, just in case?”

“Yes?”

“What kind of women do you _know_?”

Geralt just stared at her, dumbfounded.

“I can’t even remember the last time I used a hairdryer, to be honest.”

Geralt continued staring.

“Darling, your mouth is hanging open. Surely I can’t be the _only_ low-maintenance woman you know.” Jaskier paused. “Or, perhaps I am. No matter. Shall we?” Jaskier motioned toward the basement door.

*****

By the time they’d finished their session for the day (one of their last, both of them knew, which contributed in no small part to them both wishing for the BIGGEST SNOWSTORM EVER) the snow was up to the bottom of Jaskier’s shins when she opened one of the French doors leading out to the patio outside.

Jaskier felt, more than saw, Geralt come stand up right behind her ( _right_ behind her), his hand on the door, holding it open.

“Little Larks don’t last long in the snow,” he murmured into her hair “you should probably get dressed,”

“Probably,” Jaskier said, resting her head back on his shoulder behind her.

Neither made a move to separate. Jaskier appreciated the warmth of his (broad, chiseled, perfect) body behind her, and Geralt appreciated the cold air for the affect it was having on Jaskier’s nipples. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to wrap her in his warmth, to put her hands under his sweatshirt, on his skin, to warm them up.

Then Geralt noticed her teeth actually chattering, and he pulled her back from the door, and shut it.

“Get dressed, Frosty,” he said, a small smile on his face. “I’ll make us hot cocoa.”

The way Jaskier’s eyes lit up, and the jumping and clapping she did _did_ something to Geralt. He had to hold himself back from pushing her back against the wall, wrapping her legs around his waist and doing every single thing to her that he’d daydreamed about for months.

Instead, he cleared his throat, and turned to walk upstairs to make hot chocolate.

*****

Jaskier found him in the kitchen, doling out marshmallows on top of two mugs of cocoa. 

The fact that Geralt actually had marshmallows in his kitchen made warmth bloom in Jaskier’s chest.

“So, looks like you’re stuck here.”

“I’m crushed, Geralt. Crushed.” Jaskier said dryly, which was completely at odds with the huge grin on her face.

Her heart soared when he grinned back at her.

He led her to the couch in the living room, and they sat, Jaskier turned so she faced Geralt, who was sitting facing the TV in front of them.

She considered him for a few minutes. “What would you be doing today, without the imposition of an uninvited houseguest?”

“You’re not an imposition, and you _were_ invited, Jask.” Geralt said, turning to look at her.

“But what would you be doing today, otherwise?”

“Working out? Doing laundry? Maybe watching a movie?”

“Y’know, I’ve wondered – what kind of workouts _do_ you do, because you are, uh,-“she stopped, abruptly.

“I am…?” Geralt prodded, teasingly curious.

“Very well put together.”

“Good save, Jas.” He chuckled.

“Ohho! Do I perhaps hear the sound of someone wanting to be told they’re pretty?”

Jaskier delighted in the subtle shade of pink Geralt’s cheeks turned.

“I _am_ an entertainer, Geralt, don’t forget. I could craft epic sonnets and countless songs dedicated entirely to the definition in your back, or your shoulder-to-waist ratio, or what I imagine your arms would feel like holding…things. Or, the shape of your jaw, the sharpness of your cheekbones, the color of your eyes.”

Geralt’s cheeks were red now.

“But I can tell I’m making you uncomfortable, so I will stop. Suffice to say, I think you’re _very_ pretty.”

“Jask,” Geralt rasped.

“You think I’m teasing you! I assure you; I am not. You are truly one of the most beautiful humans I’ve ever encountered, inside and out. And you are my _friend_. This is by no means a come-on. I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“You – I – Jask.”

“Geralt – it’s ok. I don’t expect anything in return – you deserve to know you’re more than what you can do for people.”

Jaskier watched Geralt turn to look at her. He stared at her curiously, like she was a new species of animal he’d never seen before.

“Ok.” He said, quietly.

“Wanna watch something awful on Netflix?”

“Define ‘awful’,” Geralt’s face was skeptical.

So she did.

*****

Turned out, ‘awful’ meant Mystery Science Theater 3000 (the originals). Geralt had never seen anything like it before. Apparently Jaskier had grown up watching these with her dad (when she was old enough) and then continued on with her brother and sister after her dad passed away.

They watched ‘Pod People’ and ‘Alien from LA’.

Now, while this wasn’t _necessarily_ Geralt’s cup of tea, they were pretty funny, but watching Jaskier watch them was definitely worth the price of admission. 

These were movies they could talk during – and _oh_ , Jaskier did.

They were huddled up on the couch together, under a shared blanket, and Jaskier told Geralt about the first-time watching Pod People with her dad, sitting in his lap, laughing at the stupid little alien named Trumpy. She told him about her fascination as a 10-year-old with the Satellite of Love’s doors (the door interstitial) and how she was really concerned about where Joel slept, and if he had enough oxygen, and how her dad had to keep reminding her it was a _show_ , and the robots weren’t real, but _to this day_ , it still bothered her.

Then, during ‘Alien from LA’, Jaskier told him this was the first MST3K she’d watched _without_ her dad, but with her brother and sister, and they’d all loved it and after it was over, the three of them would act out scenes (the last ‘underground’ scene, the real dramatic one, with the rocketship was a favorite).

This was the most Jaskier had ever spoken about her family, in positive terms, and the first time she’d really mentioned her brother or sister. Geralt gently (GENTLY) asked more about her father; she told him how long he’d served in the Navy; that he’d been the one to get her into music. Geralt was also surprised as shit to learn she knew how to hunt. Like, actually hunt.

“Like, with a bow and arrow, or a rifle, or what?”

“Both, any/all, even a slingshot, when I was very young.”

“No shit.”

“No shit.”

“And…then what happens to the game, once you’ve killed it?”

Jaskier looked at him like he was stupid.

“You clean and dress it, fool. What do YOU do with caught game?”

“And, where did you learn to do all this?”

“I grew up on…an estate. Our estate grounds were…expansive.”

Geralt considered this. It made sense, he guessed, based on their previous conversation about her being minor nobility.

“What other kinds of stuff can you do?” Geralt asked, curious.

Jaskier made a face at him. “Geralt, it’s not like there’s a checklist for this shit,” she said, laughing. “And my dad wasn’t the most…conventional Viscount.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I’m not a man.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Geralt said, deadpan.

Jaskier snorted. “Hunting wasn’t _exactly_ top of the ‘raising a viscountess’ priority list.”

“So, what other ‘unconventional’ things did your dad teach you?”

“Agility training.”

“Wait, what?”

“He had a whole rope/balance beam/tree course set up, on one side of our property.”

“Like, what kind of agility are we talking about?”

“Imagine a combination of Tarzan and circus performer.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I am not. I’ll have to get my sister to text me some photos. At one point – and mind you, this was when I was like 10-11 years old, I was able to get across about a mile of our property without touching the ground.”

“What possible use could a Viscount or Viscountess have for that kind of conditioning?”

“I was a terror at home when I was little. It was fun. It kept me occupied, and out of the house.”

“Are you like an extreme sports enthusiast, or something?”

“I mean, not like ‘I want to throw myself off of bridges into rivers for fun’ or anything, but like rock-climbing? Sure.”

“Really? You rock-climb?”

“Why, you wanna go?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.”

Geralt paused. He wasn’t quite sure how to phrase this without it sounding…lewd.

“What – I can see the gears turning. You want to ask something, but you’re hesitating. Relax. I’m fairly confident there isn’t much you can say to me that’ll offend me.”

“Just…you asked what kind of workouts I do. I’m curious about the same for you, now.”

“OH! Well, that’s easy. Running, and yoga.”

“Yoga.”

“You’ve heard of it, no doubt,” Jaskier said, dryly.

“You just –“ And here Geralt did have to pause, because this was thin ice, as far as he was concerned. “You have impressive muscle definition, and yoga just doesn’t seem…”

He was cut off by Jaskier going to stand in front of the couch, pulling off her oversized sweatshirt, leaving her in black leggings and a black sports bra.

She started in Peacock pose. Then she moved to a forearm handstand, then did a split while upside down, which she then turned into Pigeon pose.

Then, to show off, she did a real handstand, and did ten handstand pushups.

When she was back upright, she sat on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest and watched Geralt watch her with no small amount of awe.

“You were saying about yoga not seeming…”

“I take it back. I take it _all_ back.”

“Can you do handstand pushups?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Not _that_ easily I can’t.”

*****

And then it was time for bed.

Geralt had gotten blankets, sheets and pillows out already, so the couch was all set for someone to sleep on it.

Even though Geralt had said she could just sleep on the couch, he couldn’t, in good conscience make her _sleep on his fucking couch_. So he offered to take the couch instead.

Which Jaskier flatly refused to let him do.

“Darling Wolf, it’s _your_ goddamned bed.”

“I’m aware,”

“So go sleep in it. I’ll be fine. My last semester of Julliard was…touchy, so I became a professional couch-surfer. I’ll be fine, really.”

“Jas-“

“Try to out-stubborn me on this, Geralt. I dare you.” She wore a cheeky grin when she said it, and he knew he was in _trouble_.

He growled. “Fine. Trying to be chivalrous,” he said under his breath.

“And that is appreciated, but I’m shorter. I’ll fit better.”

Geralt had a fleeting thought, and spoke before he could stop himself.

“My bed is certainly big enough for the both-“

“No.” Jaskier said so quickly it almost gave Geralt whiplash.

“I didn’t mean-“ Geralt’s eyes went wide, terrified at what Jaskier must have thought he meant.

“Geralt, I- I can’t.” she took a shuddering breath. “It – it isn’t – it isn’t what you think. I have nightmares, a lot. A lot. I…I wake people up. That’s…that’s why I don’t stay over. I wouldn’t want to wake you up.”

Geralt’s heart broke for her. He sighed. “I get nightmares, too, Lark. I understand.”

“Thanks,” she said, softly.

He sure as hell didn’t want to leave her down in the living room by herself, but he just sighed, said goodnight, and walked upstairs dejectedly. He tried getting comfortable in his bed, but no matter what position he tried, all he could think about was Larkin on the couch downstairs, alone.

He made it an hour before he got up and walked downstairs in plaid pj pants and bare feet. He saw Jask prop herself up on an elbow to look over the couch.

“Bed’s that way, handsome,” she said, pointing up.

“Bed’s overrated.”

“No, I know for a _fact_ your bed is in no way overrated.”

“Well, _you_ go sleep in it, then,” Geralt said, walking around to the front of the couch, sliding himself under her shoulders, so her head was in his lap. “Seemed like a shitty sleepover if we’re sleeping in two different places. Your head gonna be ok like this?”

Jaskier was looking up at him dumbfounded. “Uh, uh, yeah. Yeah.” She paused. “Yours?”

“I’ve managed to sleep in fuckin’ trenches, I think I’ll be fine,” he said. What he _meant_ was _You don’t have to do this alone, Lark._

They both slept great that night, not a nightmare between them.

When Geralt woke up the next morning, Jaskier was curled on her side, head still in his lap, hugging his left arm over her chest. He had a slight crick in his neck from sleeping upright, but it was worth it watching her sleep peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Images may not show up on mobile, or at all. 😢😢😢🤦 If they don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always DEEPLY APPRECIATED.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [ActionNerdGamerLove](https://actionnerdgamerlove.tumblr.com/) Come yell at me if you're so inclined!


	11. Valdo Marx has a Death Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valdo has a moment, in full view of Geralt, his brothers, and Renfri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renfri = 
> 
> Please to note - my HC of Eskel is Karl Urban. Them's the breaks, people.
> 
> If images don't work, you can find 'em [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)

**Thursday night:**

**Little Lark [8:17 PM]:** Hey, I have a gig tomorrow night – would you want to come?

**White Wolf [8:18 PM]:** Sure.

**White Wolf [8:47 PM]:** Was that the wrong thing to say?

**Little Lark [8:48 PM]:** [Selfie attached of Jaskier making a very exaggeratedly surprised face] No, I just needed a minute to re-adjust my world view. I thought I would have to convince you to come.

**White Wolf [8:49 PM]:** I mean, I’m always up for persuasion.

**Little Lark [8:50 PM]:** *gives shifty eyes* Is that so? Any…preferred methods of persuasion, that might guarantee a favorable outcome?

**White Wolf [8:51 PM]:** I leave it up to you and your imagination.

**Little Lark [8:51 PM]:** My imagination is very, very vivid, Geralt.

**White Wolf [8:52 PM]:** I’m counting on it, Jas.

*****

**Little Lark [8:53 PM]:** [Screenshot of last four lines of text with Geralt] This is flirting right? I don’t want to misinterpret.

**(Renfri) Xena, Warrior Princess [8:54 PM]:** Fuck yes. Yes, that’s flirting. I TOLD YOU SO. FEELINGS. FEEEEEEELINGSSSSSS.

**Little Lark [8:55 PM]:** Slow your roll there, hot stuff. He *may* be coming to a gig. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.

**Xena, Warrior Princess [8:56 PM]:** WILL I GET TO MEET HIM.

**Little Lark [8:57 PM]:** Assuming he shows up, yes, I’d guess you would. Please don’t threaten him, Ren. Please.

**Xena, Warrior Princess [8:58 PM]:** [Side-eye emoji] Oh? Why not?

**Little Lark [9:00 PM]:** He was a Marine, and judging by his service medals…he’s lucky he got to come home. I don’t know specifics – we haven’t talked about it. But, can he get protected status because I asked nicely?

**Xena, Warrior Princess [8:58 PM]:** Yes, since you’ve never actually asked before, I’ll add him to my Do Not Hit list.

*****

The night of the show, Jaskier stood with Renfri, Lambert and Eskel until it was time for her to go on. She tried not to let her disappointment show, but she wasn’t as subtle as she thought she was being, and Lambert noticed.

“He’s coming, Jas. Don’t worry.” Lambert assured her, squeezing her hand.

“It’s fine,” she said, trying to play it off as nothing.

“He’s not a fan of crowds, Jask.” Eskel explained.

“If he doesn’t show, can I threaten him _then_?” Renfri asked, smiling.

“Still no,” Jaskier replied, smiling knowingly.

“Hey, isn’t that…that guy? You met? That time?” Renfri asked, looking past all four of them, to Valdo, who had just stormed in. Jaskier looked around her, eyes going wide. She took the beer out of Lambert’s hand and chugged it.

“Y’alright there, hot mess?” he asked, eyebrows raised. _Everyone_ knew Jaskier didn’t drink.

“I, uh, told him I wasn’t having fun anymore and that was that, a couple days ago. Tonight’s set…may not go over so well.” Jaskier looked at Eskel, and his beer, and Eskel just handed it over to her. She chugged that one, too.

“Wait, you’re not doing the one you wrote about Geralt, are you?” Renfri asked.

“The song you wrote about _who_ now?” Lambert asked, eyes fixed on Jaskier.

“Uh, no, I’m not going to sing _that song_ when Geralt had said he might actually _be here_ ,” Jaskier hissed at Renfri.

“Can we circle back to the part where you said you wrote a song about my brother?” Lambert’s eyes were wide with glee. “Is it a _love_ song? Do you… _like him_?”

Jaskier said ‘no’ at the same moment Renfri crowed ‘YES’.

“He said it was a _business arrangement_ ,” Jaskier hissed.

Lambert, Eskel and Renfri burst out laughing at that.

“And yet, he’s coming to see you tonight, kid,” Lambert said.

“I don’t like complicated, Lamb,”

“So what’s complicated? You like him, he likes you, the two of you could live dysfunctionally happily ever after.”

“Feelings are hard,” she said, quietly. She knew her friends could hear her.

Eskel reached over and squeezed her hand. “They are for him, too. You’re in good company.”

“He’s still painting. I’m still getting paid.”

“Wait, _what_?” Lambert’s brow furrowed, and he exchanged a look with Eskel. “He told us he was done with your painting a couple weeks ago.”

Now Jaskier’s brow was furrowed, too.

“He was doing something to the painting this past Sunday.”

“Uh-huh, sure he was. Was that before or after he saw you in the strappy underwear?”

Jaskier’s eyes got real big. “I cannot believe he told you about that.”

“Are you mad?”

“No, not that – it just surprises me he talks about me _at all_.”

Both Eskel and Lambert looked to be twiddling their thumbs, pointedly _not looking_ at Jaskier. Renfri cackled.

“You look good, babe. No matter what, _I’d_ fuck you,” Renfri said, throwing her arm over Jaskier’s shoulders.

Jaskier did, in fact, look good. She was wearing a pair of old bootcut jeans, a sheer white long-sleeved cotton shirt, and her favorite brown Frye motorcycle boots. She’d told herself she wasn’t getting dressed up for anything special.

She almost believed it.

*****

Geralt was running late.

He was running late because he couldn’t decide what to wear. Everything in his closet was black, or off-black.

_Maybe_ , just maybe, his wardrobe could use a little more variety. Maybe.

He settled on a pair of comfortably worn dark wash jeans (that apparently made his ass look spectacular, according to Yennefer). That wasn’t the reason he chose them. It _wasn’t_. It was because they were _comfortable_.

Sure.

He pulled a black button down out of his closet and threw that on, rolling up the sleeves, pulled his wet hair back into a low ponytail, then ran downstairs to pull on his boots and he was out the door. Lambert had already texted that he’d better not stand Jask up because she had on her sad panda face, whatever that meant.

He definitely didn’t want to see it, let alone be the cause of it.

He got to the bar right after Jask finished her first song. She’d apparently covered ‘Life on a Chain’ by Pete Yorn. He found Eskel and Lambert easily enough – pretty tough to miss two huge ass dudes wearing flannel, just standing around.

“You must be the dude Jas talks about all the time.”

Geralt turned, and had to look down. He was faced with a short brunette, whose hair was curlier and shorter than Jaskier’s, who was smiling at him in a predatory way.

“Lemme guess – you’re Renfri.”

“She’s _mentioned_ me!”

“Yes, I do believe she mentioned you have a penchant for slamming heads into curbs for her, as well as very detailed threats.”

“Well, yes. Those two things are indeed true, however, you’re _safe_ ,”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at her; the way she said ‘safe’ sounded like she was _disgusted_.

He raised his eyebrows, as an indication for her to continue.

“She made me promise not to threaten you,” Renfri said airily. 

Eskel and Lambert’s heads swiveled toward them at that.

“Oh?” asked Lambert. “And why might this be?”

“Dunno. She just asked nicely, and used her best manners words.”

Even Geralt, who’d known Renfri for less than five minutes, knew that was utter bullshit, but decided not to press.

“So how’s the painting going?” Renfri asked, coming to stand next to him, so she didn’t have her back facing their friends.

Geralt shrugged. “We’re almost done. I’m doing detail work now.”

“What’re you gonna do with it once it’s done?” Renfri looked up at him skeptically.

Now wasn’t _that_ a question. Geralt hadn’t honestly thought about it much, at the beginning. 

In the beginning, he didn’t have high hopes for whatever model answered his ad.

In the beginning, he didn’t think it would be _good_.

But it _was_.

He had no earthly idea what he was going to do with it. Hanging it seemed…weird. He’d like to, don’t get him wrong, but Jask was his friend, and he hoped he’d still see her after the painting was done. And he probably wouldn’t if he hung that painting.

What he said to Renfri was “I’m not sure.”

Jaskier’s next song was a cover of Shine. Jaskier said she was covering Dolly Parton’s version, and she said no disrespect to Collective Soul, but she loved Dolly Parton’s version much more. She switched her guitar for a fucking violin (she _had_ said she could play) and _fuck_ , he wasn’t a music person but he might have to become one, now.

Geralt had heard her sing before, from her album’s he’d downloaded, but hearing her in person was _so much better_. 

Jaskier seemed to be searching for someone in the crowd, and Geralt finally realized it was _him_ when their gazes met and her face lit up as she was singing.

_Love is in the water_ _  
Love is in the air  
Show me where to go  
And tell me will love be there, will love be there  
Teach me how to speak  
Teach me how to share  
Teach me where to go  
And tell me will love be there, will love be there_

“She’s good, yeah?” Renfri asked, bumping his elbow with her shoulder.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed affirmatively.

“Her family hates her for it.”

“She said she’d been disinherited,”

“She told you that?” Renfri asked, sounding surprised.

Geralt nodded. Renfri gave him an appraising look, as if to check his worthiness.

“This is why.”

“Because she likes to _sing_?”

“Because she’d rather be happy than be controlled. Her mother told her she wasn’t allowed to go to Julliard, and Jas told her to go fuck herself and went anyway. She only speaks to her brother and her sister now. And a cousin. She hasn’t seen her mother since she was…17? I think? I met her when she was 18.”

“Wow. Her family really is just a big bag of dicks.”

“You don’t- you don’t know the half of it. Here. C’mere. I wanna talk to you.” Renfri grabbed his arm and pulled Geralt out of the bar, to stand outside.

“But Jas is still playing-“

“Relax, you’re with me. She saw you leave with me, you’re safe. She knows I’ll bring you back.”

“What’d you wanna talk about?”

“So, Jas likes you.”

“She tell you that?”

“She didn’t have to.” Renfri was leaning up against the brick wall at the front of the bar, arms crossed, watching him. “She hasn’t liked someone – like _liked_ someone – in five years. Now, I’m not saying any of this to get you to admit you like her, or any of that horse shit-“

Geralt raised an eyebrow at her as if to say ‘Oh, really?’

“I’m not. Your feelings are your business. Her feelings are _my_ business. So. Here’s what I wanted to tell you. Her family is shit. Like, literal shit. I have legitimately thought of going and killing them all in their sleep. After her dad died, Jask’s life got _bad_. And then there was that shit with the Countess.”

“The Countess?”

“Jask wrote ‘Her Sweet Kiss’ about her. I’ll spare you the details, because it’s not my story to tell, but I need you to know that she built up _a lot_ of walls around herself for a very good reason, and she doesn’t just ‘like’ people.”

Geralt paused. “So, is this the part where you threaten me?”

“Told you I wasn’t gonna do that. This isn’t a threat, man, it’s...a friendly bit of advice, I guess. If you just want to be friends with her, that’s cool. If you want to be more than friends, I need you to be sure ‘more than friends’ is what you want, too – and let her know. If you want casual, she can do casual. But if you want more than casual, where feelings get involved…just” and here Renfri paused. “She’s worked so hard to get where she is…here” Renfri gestured to her head. “Please, don’t fuck it up.”

“Why tell me any of this?” Geralt asked, genuinely curious. Renfri didn’t strike him as a woman who just…told people things out of the goodness of her heart.

“Because she asked me not to threaten you.”

“So you’re spilling all her family secrets?”

“She’s never asked me to do that before, not for anyone.” Renfri paused again. “You mean something to her. Don’t…don’t take advantage of that.” She looked down, kicking her boot against the ground. “We should get back.”

“Any other words of wisdom?” Geralt asked, genuinely curious.

“Don’t be a big bag of dicks.”

*****

When they got back inside Jask was in the middle of a cover of ‘Love, Save the Empty’ by Erin McCarley.

_Stars feel like knives,  
They tell us why we're fighting  
Storm, wait outside  
Oh, love, hold us together_

_Love, save the empty_

After that, she played ‘I Told You I Was Mean’ by Elle King, and to Geralt, it seemed like she was singing it _to_ someone. Geralt was watching her as she sang, and she didn’t look at him once.

_You knew what this was  
I don't want you anymore  
I warned you before  
I warned you before  
That I could've sworn, I told you I was mean_

_You were a sweet old thing  
And I was lonely so I let you hold me  
For a limited time  
Only you see  
You're nothing to me_

Geralt felt Renfri nudge him.

“There’s…someone here, that she just…let out to pasture. He apparently did not accept. She said tonight’s set may not go over so well, because she didn’t think he’d be here.”

“What, like, she broke up with somebody?”

“Jask doesn’t ‘break up’ with people. People never _get_ that far.”

“But that guy is _here_ , now.”

“Yeah. I saw him walk in, and said something about it, and Jas kind of freaked out and started drinking.”

“Jask doesn’t drink.”

“Exactly.”

Geralt hummed, not knowing exactly what to say. He’d just got a feeling in the pit of his stomach he hadn’t felt for years.

“He gonna be a problem?”

“I guess we’ll find out, now, won’t we?”

*****

The last song Jaskier covered was “Sticky-Sweet” by Erin McCarley.

She caught Geralt’s eyes and _did not_ look away the whole time.

Geralt’s stomach flip-flopped the entire time she was singing.

_Here's to who you ought to be  
No wishing well could ever bring you  
Celebrate my smile  
You color my depressed mood from gray to the most brilliant blue  
Shape every tear into a candy sky_

_Take me home to your secret  
Take me home  
To your white sanctuary_

_I don’t wanna hold off_

_Because you’re sticky_

_You’re sticky-sweet on me_

_I don’t wanna hold off_

_Cause I’m inspired by your_

_off-beat dreams_

_You’ll make me never forget how it feels to be that fortunate someone_

_I don’t wanna_

_I don’t wanna_

_I don’t wanna hold off_

_You’re getting to me_

_This music in my head of heart-shaped melodies in red  
If this is just the start I cant wait to hear the end.  
The Hours come and go  
As we wait wrapped up tight in your silver glow  
I've never been this content to be_

_Take me home to your secret_  
Take me home  
To your white sanctuary

_I don’t wanna hold off_

_Because you’re sticky_

_You’re sticky-sweet on me_

_I don’t wanna hold off_

_Cause I’m inspired by your_

_off-beat dreams_

_You’ll make me never forget how it feels to be that fortunate someone_

_I don’t wanna_

_I don’t wanna_

_I don’t wanna hold off_

_You’re getting to me_

_Can you hear the angels singing_

_While you lay your hands on me_

_Can you feel the bells a ringing_

_Well I surrender all of me_

_Oh, all of me_

_I don’t wanna hold off_

_Because you’re sticky_

_You’re sticky-sweet on me_

_I don’t wanna hold off_

_Cause I’m inspired by your_

_off-beat dreams_

_You’ll make me never forget how it feels to be that fortunate someone_

_I don’t wanna_

_I don’t wanna_

_I don’t wanna hold off_

_You’re getting to me_

_I don’t wanna_

_I don’t wanna_

_I don’t wanna hold off_

_You’re getting to me_

_I don’t wanna hold off_

_You’re sticky-sweet_

*****

When Jaskier finally found their group, she had her violin case over her shoulder, and was holding her guitar in her hand. Geralt reached out and took her guitar case from her, pulling the strap over his chest.

Her cheeks were flushed, and her wavy brown hair was stuck to her forehead with sweat, but she was all smiles.

And she was all smiles at Geralt. 

“You made it!” She sounded _overjoyed_. She over-joyously threw herself into his arms, hugging him.

_Hugging_ him.

They’d never _hugged_ before. Without thinking, his arms wound around her, and she pressed her face against his chest like it _belonged_ there.

Geralt didn’t want it to stop.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jask said into his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he murmured into her hair.

Their moment of zen was broken by Lambert _loudly_ clearing his throat behind them.

“Stop hogging the hugs, jerkface,”

“Oi! Rude!” Jaskier mumbled, tucked against Geralt’s chest, but she (reluctantly) let go, and pulled away. Slowly. Very slowly. 

She turned toward Lambert, and gave him his obligatory hug; he told her she did great. She moved on to Eskel, and Renfri, who told her the same. 

Jaskier turned back to Geralt, looking at him appraisingly.

“I’ve heard from everyone that matters but you – gimme your review, three words or less.”

He mattered. He mattered to _her_.

“Really good.” He said, loud enough for her to hear it. He saw Lambert and Eskel’s eyes go wide behind her – Geralt was not generally a big fan of music.

Then he felt someone grab his left arm. Jaskier was in front of him, so it wasn’t her.

Renfri.

“Remember that problem we talked about?” she said, voice sounding murderous. “Asshole, incoming, your 12 o’clock.”

Geralt turned around, arms across his chest, to see a very red-faced, very angry looking dark-haired man stalking toward their group. Renfri slid a step to her left, closing the gap between she and Geralt.

Angry-looking man stopped right in front of Geralt.

“Move.” He barked.

Geralt pursed his lips. “No.” he said simply.

“That one,” Angry-Looking man nodded his chin in Jaskier’s direction, “And I need to have a conversation.”

“Douchebag, I think you and _my fist_ need to have a conversation,” Renfri growled.

Geralt felt delicate hands on his sides, and felt Jaskier press closer to his back. He felt, rather than saw, her try to look around his body.

“What’s going- oh.” Her voice fell, and Geralt could hear the undercurrent of ‘I am NOT ok with this’ in her tone. He felt her hands leave his sides, and she stepped to the other side of Geralt, the side opposite Renfri. Geralt put his arm around her shoulders, for comfort, but also, just in case.

“So, is this the guy?” Angry Man asked, inclining his head at Geralt.

“Valdo. Was ‘I don’t want to see you anymore’ not clear enough for you to understand? I was polite and direct. I’d prefer not to cause a scene.”

“This is him.”

“’Him’ who?” Jaskier asked back, sounding like her patience was waning.

“My replacement.”

Jaskier laughed, and it was the most condescending sounding laugh Geralt had ever heard.

“Valdo, to have been _replaced_ , there would have had to have been something _there_ in the first place.” She sighed. “I am no longer interested in enjoying your company. Can we please move on. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

“ _You’re_ getting _tired_ -“ Valdo sneered.

“She’s asked nicely twice.” Geralt growled. “I won’t.”

“She sleep over at your place, is that it? You make her coffee in the morning? Cuddle?”

Geralt looked over at Jask like ‘WTF is _wrong_ with this dude?’ and Jaskier just shrugged.

Eskel took that opportunity to walk around Jaskier, take Valdo by the shoulders and steer him out of the bar.

“Oh, thank fuck for _that_ ,” Renfri sighed. “He was _annoying_.”

“Yes.” Was all Jaskier said.

“Does she sleep over at your place.” Lambert sneered. “What was his _problem_?”

“He made me an offer I absolutely could refuse. And he took it weirdly personally that I never slept over. _Weirdly_ personally. Thank fuck he doesn’t know where I live,”

“You sure about that?” Lambert asked, giving Jaskier _a look_.

“Yes. We always met at a neutral location, and my id doesn’t have my address on it. I’m pretty certain he never followed me home.”

“How do you know that for sure?” Geralt asked, curious.

“I always took a different way, and I never saw the same car twice behind me.”

Geralt’s eyebrows raised. That was next-level surveillance evasion.

“Do you…always do that?” Geralt asked, concerned.

“Well, not from like your place, or Renfri’s. But, anyone who isn’t currently standing with us, besides y’alls parents, yes.” Jaskier looked thoughtful. “Speaking of my place, I don’t have a ride home.”

“I can take you,” Geralt said, simply.

“You good to drive?” Jaskier asked, being the responsible adult she was.

“Yes.” Geralt said, wryly, rolling his eyes. He pulled her violin case off her back, a little awkwardly, to put over his other shoulder, and grabbed her arm (gently) to guide her to his truck. He made sure to leave in the opposite direction of where Eskel was _still_ chatting with the asshole that had harassed Jask. ‘Chatting’ may have been too kind a word to describe the absolute death glare Esk was giving the fucker. Geralt noticed Jask was shooting worried glances over her shoulder, and he (awkwardly, considering both the instruments over his shoulders) put his arm around her as they walked.

They finally got to Geralt’s ancient Ford pickup, and Geralt opened Jaskier’s door for her, after putting her instruments behind the seat. He waited for the inevitable ‘Your truck is SO OLD’ comments as he got settled behind the driver’s seat.

But they never came.

“No comments from the peanut gallery?”

Jaskier looked at him quizzically. “About…what?”

“My truck.”

“What about it?” Jask’s forehead was pinched together, trying to figure out what he meant.

“Because it’s so old, yadda yadda,”

Geralt wasn’t sure what to make of the belly laugh Jaskier let out at that.

“Geralt – were you expecting me to _shame you_ because of your car?”

Geralt hummed in reply.

“Darling – my Honda is older than I am. It might even be older than you are – are you over or under 30?”

“Right at.”

“You are the same age as my car. All of the furniture in my apartment was thrifted or liberated from dumpsters when the students moved out at the end of the years past. As long as your car goes and keeps you safe, I give no shits. Although, I gotta say – lapbelts are a blast from the past!”

Geralt wasn’t sure what to do with this information, so he decided to pack it away for later.

Jaskier gave him directions to her apartment, and it wasn’t that far from the bar. She said she usually walked, but with two instruments it was a little ungainly.

When he pulled up in front of her building, Geralt wasn’t sure what he was expecting in terms of ‘Where Jaskier, former nobility, current professional musician and all around pretty amazing human being’ lived, but it certainly wasn’t the crumbling ‘on the verge of being condemned’ cinderblock monstrosity they found themselves in front of.

“So, this is me,” Jaskier said, unbuckling her lapbelt and opening the passenger door to wrangle her instruments out from behind the seat.

Vesemir had raised him far better than this, though, and he got out of the car and again took her instruments from her.

“You’ve still got me as manual labor; shame to waste it,” he smirked at her. The soft smile she gave him in return melted his heart.

They walked to a building behind the one facing the street, and she opened the front door, and they walked up two flights of stairs that surely would have been better used in a 70’s horror film, down a long corridor that was reminiscent of another horror film set in an insane asylum, and came to a battered door that had more deadbolts on it than truly belonged on any front door.

“Well, this really _is_ me, now.” Jaskier said as she used three _different_ keys to open all three deadbolts on her front door. “Y’know, you’re only the second person who’s actually been to my apartment the two years I’ve lived here.”

Geralt stared at her. WHAT. W H A T. Second person. “Who was the first?”

“Renfri. She’s the only person who’s been inside, besides my super and me.”

Geralt opened and shut his mouth a couple times, not having any idea how to respond to that. He was pretty sure that wasn’t normal. Like, Geralt knew he was pretty reclusive, especially since being discharged, and splitting up with Yen, but, his family still came over. And, now Jaskier.

Jaskier must have noticed Geralt’s distress, because she told him “It’s, um, a safety thing. This is the _one place_ that no one else can get me. Because no one knows where it is.”

Geralt’s insides froze. WOW. He didn’t miss her use of the words ‘get me’.

WOW.

_Oh, Larkin. What the fuck happened to you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Images may not show up on mobile, or at all. 😢😢😢🤦 If they don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always DEEPLY APPRECIATED.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [ActionNerdGamerLove](https://actionnerdgamerlove.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller) Come yell at me if you're so inclined!


	12. There are GLASS SHARDS in your FACE, Larkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier had a rough night and Geralt’s not prepared for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Images may not show up on mobile, or at all. 😢😢😢🤦 If they don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)

Jaskier groaned at the incessant pounding on her apartment’s front door. She thought it would have gone away after five minutes.

But she was wrong.

She begrudgingly pulled herself out of bed, wrapping her duvet around her shoulders as she padded, barefoot, to the front door.

“Not today, Satan,” she called before looking through the peephole.

“Larkin, it’s me.” A very gruff, very recognizable voice called from the other side.

Fuck. She pressed her forehead against the door and sighed.

“You didn’t show up for our session,” Geralt said. There was a long pause. “I got worried.”

Heaving another sigh, Jaskier slid back the three deadbolts and the chain latch and opened the door enough to poke her face out.

“Here’s your proof of life. I am alive.”

She had pulled her duvet up over her head like a hood, so she knew that Geralt wouldn’t really be able to see her face all _that_ clearly, but was not expecting him to ask to be let in because he was _that_ worried. She opened the door, standing behind it like it was a shield as he walked into her apartment. She didn’t draw out closing the door – she _didn’t_ – by shuffling on bare feet, trying not to get caught up in her comforter.

“Did something happen last night?” Geralt asked, eyeing her warily.

Jaskier wasn’t prepared to answer that question, and merely hummed in reply.

“Drop the hood, little Jawa.”

“But I’m _comfy_.” Jask whined.

“You dressed under that thing? Drop the hood or I take it, Lark.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she grumbled. Jaskier was _not_ in the mood to play tug of war with her linens. Jask did not see Geralt’s eyebrows raise in bemusement at her comment.

“Jask. I’m serious. I’d like to avoid any blanket casualties if I can help it.”

“Why are you being so _pushy_? I’m tired. I wanna go back to _sleep_ , G.”

“Take off your sleeping bag and if I’m satisfied, I’ll leave.”

“If you’re _satisfied_!” Jask said, indignancy plain in her tone.

“Larkin. I won’t ask nicely again.”

“You barely asked nicely in the first place,” she grumbled again.

“Someone’s punchy,” Geralt chuckled.

“Because I didn’t get any fucking sleep last night, thank you very much.”

Jaskier knew Geralt’s patience wasn’t unlimited, and he was likely to start a tug of war with her over this stupid situation, so with a huff she pulled the blanket down from over her head.

She heard Geralt _hiss_ when he saw her right cheek. Having looked in a mirror, she knew he was wide-eyed and staring over the huge fucking bruise over her cheekbone, and the raw, ragged scratches over her cheekbone and her cheek.

“Jask, _what the fuck happened last night_?”

“I ran into a door.”

“You’re so full of shit. Was the door made of razor-wire?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck you. What really happened.”

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“I _already_ don’t like it, Jas.”

“I got in a bar fight.”

Geralt stared, mouth agape. “ _You_ got in a bar fight?” He asked, stupidly. ‘Jaskier’ and ‘physical violence’ were two things he absolutely _did not_ associate together. “With _who_?”

“Valdo.”

“ _Fuuuuck_.”

“Told you you weren’t gonna like it.” Jaskier watched Geralt close his eyes and sigh, and could only imagine he was kicking himself for a) telling her she had nothing to worry about when she’d said she was afraid her ex was going to show up at the bar and b) not coming to the bar even though Jaskier had specifically asked him to, because she was worried.

“Jas, I’m so sorr-“

“It’s fine.” She said, her voice empty, in the way that means IT IS NOT FINE, NOT FINE AT ALL. “Well, now that you’re satisfied, you can leave. There’s the door,” she said, pointing to it from where they stood in the middle of her living room.

“Oh, fuck you!” Geralt exclaimed indignantly. “Has anyone even looked at it? It looks fucking awful. Bathroom?”

Jaskier glared at him, her expression saying she was more than 1,000% done with him, but she pointed further into the apartment, and did not resist when Geralt started herding her toward it with his body. He herded her into the bathroom, telling her to drop the cape before they walked inside, and Jaskier was positive she heard him gasp. She hadn’t bothered to put on pajamas when she’d gotten home last night, so she was wearing a pair of purple string bikinis and a white tank top.

He had her sit on the toilet lid, and she directed him toward her medicine cabinet for her first aid kit. Jaskier watched while he went through her surprisingly well-equipped medicine cabinet and noticed him frown when he saw several prescription bottles lined up, on the first shelf. Clonazepam, Lorazepam, Trazadone, Alprazolam, Bupropion, Aripiprazole. 

Larkin saw him focus on getting alcohol, Neosporin, and tweezers. He turned back to Jaskier and busied himself picking glass shards out of her face. (OUT OF HER FACE. GLASS. SHARDS. WERE IN HER FACE STILL.) 

“Jaskier – WHY ARE THERE GLASS SHARDS IN YOUR FACE.”

“Valdo broke a beer bottle on my cheekbone.” She said, tonelessly.

“Jesus fucking Christ I will _kill_ him-“

“Get in line. I think Renfri and Lambert have that angle covered, love. When I left, I’m _pretty_ sure he was missing at least a couple of his front teeth, because Renfri curbed him. It was sweet, that’s actually how she and I met when I was at Julliard.”

“You met your best friend because she slammed someone’s face into a curb?”

“Yes. A dude wasn’t taking no for an answer at a frat party, and Ren took great exception. She took her exception right out to the curb.”

“She threaten you, too?”

“No, she asked if she could kiss me, and I said yes.”

“You have led a fascinating life, Jas.”

“It all started going downhill when I was 11. That’s when my dad died.” Jaskier flinched, as a shard of glass was removed from her face. “Ow!”

“You slept on it, didn’t you. No one looked at it, and you came home and slept on it. I have that about right?”

Jaskier shot him what she thought was her most withering glare, and didn’t reply.

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital? Or the ER? Or, I dunno, Urgent Care? I’m sure either Eskel or Lambert would have broken off from their homicide party to take you.” He paused. “Or, you coulda called me.”

“You already said you weren’t going to come last night, Geralt. Why would I have bothered?”

“LARKIN. You were physically assaulted. No amount of ‘I had a shitty day and am really not good company’ would have stopped me from taking you to the ER.”

“This doesn’t require the ER.”

“There could be GLASS SHARDS in your EYE, Larkin.” Geralt bellowed.

“I don’t have health insurance,” Jaskier mumbled so quietly Geralt almost didn’t catch it.

“What?”

“I can’t afford an ER visit, Geralt. I don’t have health insurance. I don’t have ten grand to throw at a struggling care facility when I’m trying to avoid student loans.”

“Move in with me.”

Larkin’s jaw dropped. “I – what?”

“Move in with me. Be my roommate.”

“I’m not seeing the connection between glass in my face and sleeping in your spare room, babe,”

“I’ve- been thinking about it. I…I think it could work. Think about it.”

What Geralt thinks but _doesn’t_ say – _I want you home with me_.

He notices her ‘deer in headlights’ look, and can tell her breathing is shallow.

“Hey – hey, it’s all right. Just a thought. It can certainly wait to get the rest of the GLASS SHARDS out of your FACE, Jask.”

Jaskier watched Geralt open her medicine cabinet, grab a Klonopin, and nod for her to open her mouth. He slipped the dissolvable under her tongue. He’d been prompted by the gathering tears in the corners of her eyes.

“Is…change, a trigger?” he asked, softly.

“Yep.”

“PTSD?”

“Yep.”

“Me, too.”

“I know.”

“Can I ask – what happened, exactly, that made Valdo a literal dead man walking?”

Jaskier sighed. She knew he was going to ask. She knew it was coming.

“I…sang a song, last night.”

“Jask, you sing songs _every_ weekend.”

“This…song was new. He…didn’t like it.”

“Yeah, I’m really getting that vibe, what with the fucking _glass_ in your fucking _perfect_ _face_. Did you write a song about how big a douche he is, or something?”

“No. It wasn’t about him.”

Geralt stopped swabbing her face, his brows knitted together. “Have I heard it?”

Now Jaskier was the one to pause, to consider. “Kind of. Do you remember the part of that song you heard me hum at your place, that day? It was that song.”

“I feel like this is the part where I’m supposed to ask what the song’s about.”

“It’s a love song. Just not about…him.”

Geralt _really_ wanted to ask who the song _was_ about, but he didn’t.

*****

**Later:**

Group text with Lambert and Eskel:

**[Little Lark 5:10 PM]:** So, I find it necessary to give the two of you a hearty WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK when I ask sincerely, WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME GERALT WAS GONNA ASK ME TO MOVE IN WITH HIM. I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS.

**[Lambert 5:10 PM]:** Wait, W H A T?

**[Eskel, Best Hugger 5:10 PM]:** Geralt, OUR brother?

**[Lambert 5:11 PM]:** Asked you to MOVE IN WITH HIM.

**[Little Lark 5:11 PM]:** As a roommate.

**[Eskel, Best Hugger 5:12 PM]:** Geralt asked you to move in with him.

**[Little Lark 5:15 PM]:** As a roommate.

**[Lambert 5:16 PM]:** We are talking about the same Geralt, right? Grumpy, tall, white hair, doesn’t talk a lot? Avoids people?

**[Eskel, Best Hugger 5:17 PM]:** Except for Jas, apparently.

**[Little Lark 5:18 PM]:** Y’all didn’t know?

**[Lambert 5:18 PM]:** We most certainly DID NOT.

**[Eskel, Best Hugger 5:19 PM]:** NOPE.

**[Lambert 5:20 PM]:** What did you say? Did you say yes? You should say yes.

**[Eskel, Best Hugger 5:20 PM]:** Definitely say yes.

**[Little Lark 5:21 PM]:** You think I should say yes? I…had a panic attack. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I…don’t think we’d be a good roommate fit.

**[Eskel, Best Hugger 5:22 PM]:** Why not, Jas?

**[Little Lark 5:23 PM]:** I’m…a lot. I don’t know if G is prepared for the level of…extra I would bring to his house.

**[Eskel, Best Hugger 5:23 PM]:** He wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t sure, Jaskier.

*****

Simultaneously:

**[Lambert 5:17 PM]:** WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU TELL US YOU WERE GOING TO ASK HER TO BE YOUR ROOMMATE I COULD HAVE PREPPED HER FOR THAT YOU ABSOULUTE FOOL.

**[Eskel 5:17 PM]:** <Read>

**[White Wolf 5:18 PM]:** It just kind of…slipped out while I was PICKING FUCKING GLASS SHARDS OUT OF HER FACE YOU ASSHOLE.

**[Lambert 5:19 PM]:** Fuck you. ‘It just slipped out’ my ass. You OVERthink things, Ger. Also, douche from last night needed some serious fucking handling. You really shoulda been there, man.

**[White Wolf 5:18 PM]:** I know. Believe me, I know. Goddammit. I really didn’t think he’d try anything after last weekend. FUCK.

**[Lambert 5:19 PM]:** Her face gonna be ok?

**[White Wolf 5:20 PM]:** Yeah. Thank Gods the cuts weren’t deep. I got all the glass out, I think. She’s in pain, but she said she’ll be ok. I asked if she wanted to come home with me, so I could keep an eye on her, but she said no.

**[Eskel 5:21 PM]:** I’m surprised she let you in her _apartment_ , Geralt. Neither Lambert or I know where she fucking _lives_ , man.

**[White Wolf 5:20 PM]:** She, uh, she mentioned that. The only other person besides me that’s been in her place is Renfri.

**[Lambert 5:22 PM]:** DUDE YOU ARE CUTTING IN LINE FUCK YOU. What the fuck makes YOU so special? 

**[White Wolf 5:23 PM]:** You are not missing much – her place looks like it’s five seconds from being condemned. If nothing else, I hope she says yes because I think her apartment might try to kill her.

*****

Later:

**[Little Lark 9:12 PM]:** Geralt asked me to move in with him, as his roommate today.

**[Xena, Warrior Princess 9:12 PM]:** No shit! Good. I like him. Do it.

**[Xena, Warrior Princess 9:14 PM]:** You didn’t say no, did you? Did you freak out?

**[Little Lark 9:15 PM]:** Yes.

**[Xena, Warrior Princess 9:16 PM]:** YES TO WHICH ONE YOU ASSHOLE? You have a panic attack? How’d that go over?

**[Little Lark 9:17 PM]:** I was having a panic attack and he fed me Klonopin.

**[Xena, Warrior Princess 9:18 PM]:** He FED you? Where were you?

**[Little Lark 9:19 PM]:** My bathroom. He was picking glass shards out of my face.

**[Xena, Warrior Princess 9:20 PM]:** Ok, so you let him into your apartment, now you basically have to get married. Moving in would be a good first step.

**[Little Lark 9:20 PM]:** Ok. 

**[Xena, Warrior Princess 9:21 PM]:** Hey. It doesn’t work out, you can always leave. Moving in with him won’t take that option away. Also, I will kill him if he hurts you, so there’s that.

**[Little Lark 9:22 PM]:** What did the two of you talk about, when you took him outside, the night of my set?

**[Xena, Warrior Princess 9:22 PM]:** He asked for my advice, and I told him not to be a big bag of dicks. I also told him your family is a cesspool of toxicity. The usual.

**[Xena, Warrior Princess 9:24 PM** ]: I think you should say yes. What did Lamb and Eskel say?

**[Little Lark 9:25 PM]:** The same.

**[Xena, Warrior Princess 9:26 PM** ]: Well, there’s your three people, darling.

*****

Two days later, and Jaskier is sitting in her therapist’s (Lauren) office.

“Geralt asked me to be his roommate.” Jaskier says, her tone flat.

Lauren is well aware that that is the tone of voice Jaskier (Larkin) uses when she’s deeply afraid.

“Did he?” Lauren is both surprised and not surprised to hear this news.

Jaskier had called to schedule an impromptu appointment on Monday, and Lauren had cleared her schedule to give Jaskier back-to-back slots so they could have more time. She was glad she had, too; having taken one look at Jaskier’s face she knew one 50-minute session would not have been enough. Lauren was terrified that _Geralt_ had been the one to hurt Jaskier, and was beyond relieved to know that wasn’t the case. The almost-more-than-friendship Jaskier has with Geralt is something Lauren desperately wants to encourage.

Lauren tried not to let the shock she felt show, when Jaskier mentioned Geralt had come to her apartment and Jaskier had actually _let him in_.

“When he was fixing my face,” Jaskier said, motioning to the mess on her right cheekbone. “He told me to think about it.”

“What did you say?”

“I had a panic attack.” Jaskier sucked in a breath. “That’s when he told me to think about it.”

“How did Geralt handle your panic attack?” Lauren was very curious to know how Geralt handled it – that would say a lot about his character, and if Jaskier’s trust in him was misplaced or not.

“He got me a Klonopin from my medicine cabinet, and fed it to me. Then he asked if change was a trigger. He told me he has PTSD, too.”

Both Jaskier and Lauren had been relatively certain that was the case for months now.

“Are you still feeling that same level of panic, thinking about it?”

“Not as much.”

“Do you want to be his roommate?”

Jaskier frowned. Lauren knew this was going to be a multi-part answer.

“Yes, but.”

Lauren raised an eyebrow, indicating Jaskier continue.

“I don’t know if we’ll be compatible…long term. We’re good in smaller doses, but, what if I’m too loud for him? What if I’m too messy? What if he gets angry?”

“What was it Renfri told you?”

“This doesn’t have to be a permanent situation. I can leave anytime. He can’t _make_ me stay.”

“Do you believe it?”

“For the most part.”

“What are you _most_ afraid of, Larkin?”

There was silence for several minutes, while Jaskier really thought about it.

“That he’ll change his mind,” she said, softly.

Lauren had a feeling that was where this was coming from, and she was not surprised. Rejection and abandonment were two of Jaskier’s biggest fears, and the reason she didn’t _date_ people.

“Do you think this is a risk worth taking?” Lauren asked. Lauren definitely thought it was a risk worth taking, but of course, she couldn’t tell Jaskier that.

“Yes. But I’m scared.”

“He might be too, Jaskier.”

“I can’t imagine Geralt is afraid of _anything_ , Lauren.”

*****

Later that day:

**[Little Lark 4:45 PM]:** Ok.

**[White Wolf 4:46 PM]:** Ok...what?

**[Little Lark 4:47 PM]:** I’m in. Let’s try this roommate thing.

**[White Wolf 4:48 PM]:** Oh. Cool. That’s…good.

**[Little Lark 4:49 PM]:** You ok over there? I give you a case of the vapors?

**[White Wolf 4:48 PM]:** What? No. I just wasn’t sure you were going to say yes.

**[Little Lark 4:49 PM]:** Oh, shit – did you change your mind? I’m sorry – we don’t have to! Obviously, we don’t have to, it’s your damn house.

**[White Wolf 4:50 PM]:** Lark – deep breath, ok? I didn’t change my mind. You free for dinner Thursday? Talk more about it then?

**[Little Lark 4:52 PM]:** Ok.

*****

Minutes later:

**[White Wolf 5:10 PM]:** She said yes.

**[Lambert 5:10 PM]:** To…what?

**[Eskel 5:11 PM]:** To moving in, jackass. Keep up.

**[Lambert 5:10 PM]:** So…do you want us to throw you a wedding shower, or bachelor party, or something? LOL.

**[White Wolf 5:10 PM]:** Oh, fuck you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Images may not show up on mobile, or at all. 😢😢😢🤦 If they don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always DEEPLY APPRECIATED.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [ActionNerdGamerLove](https://actionnerdgamerlove.tumblr.com/) Come yell at me if you're so inclined!
> 
> As always, especially now, Stay Safe and Be Kind!

**Author's Note:**

> Moodboards may not show up on mobile. 😢😢😢🤦 If Moodboards don't display correctly, you can find them [here](https://twitter.com/GothamRoller)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always DEEPLY APPRECIATED.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [ActionNerdGamerLove](https://actionnerdgamerlove.tumblr.com/) Come yell at me if you're so inclined!
> 
> As always, especially now, Stay Safe and Be Kind!


End file.
